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^ — 

'jn O THE "United Sons of Confederate Veterans" and 
"United Daughters of the Confederacy" scions of 
• the most noble, chivalrous, brave, and heroic, examplars 
' of soldierly and loyal patriotism, — the most faithful 
adherents to their God-given instincts of racial superi- 
ority, and fidelity to their Caucasian blood, — scions of the 
Statesmen, Heroes, and Soldiers of the South, upon 
whom must devolve the sacred duty to themselves, their 
progenitors, their country, and their God, of defending 
the facts, shielding the justness, and of combating the 
falsehoods and calumnies concerning that Cause which 
their noble sires so valiantly struggled to defend, or died 
to maintain: 

I dedicate this little volume, trusting only that my 
sentiments in verse pertaining to our Sunny South and 
Southern Dead, though but feebly expressed, may help to 
inspire them with continued courage to proclaim to the 
world that their fathers' cause is not dead, that only the 
dust of its defenders is confined to the tomb, that the 
spirit of freedom, and of justice, still survives in the 
hearts of their descendants, and like "Truth, crushed to 
earth, will rise again" 

THE AUTHOR. 



IPretace 

WHEN ten years ago I yielded to the importunings 
of my children and some of my personal friends 
to publish a collection of my rhymes, it was with 
no expectation or desire to attract any great interest of 
the public to myself or to my efforts in versification, for 
I have never aspired to literary distinction, nor to poetic 
notoriety. Whatever attempts I have made in this line 
have been, for the most part, to while away some leisure 
moments, or to comply with some friendly request; or 
else to eulogize our Confederate heroes, whose unequaled 
glory has always been to me a theme of inspiration, and 
has impelled me to attempt in poetic lines to give vent to 
those sentiments and emotions which, welling up in my 
heart, seemed too sacred for common prose to express. 
And it is more to the worthiness of that theme in this 
particular than to any merit of my verses that I ascribe 
the quick disposal of the first and second editions of my 
unpretentious volume, and my chief incentive now in pre- 
senting this later compilation of my eflfusions is but a 
desire to gratify the oft repeated requests of many of 
my friends and old comrades of the Confederacy. 

Neither claiming nor asking any credit for my feeble 
efforts in these pages, I only consent to put them forth 
for the reasons just stated, and to gratify my own desire 
that it be accepted and regarded by all as my humble 
tribute to the sacred memory of Southern heroes who 
contended so valiantly, but in vain, for the upholding of 
the Cause so just, but so unfortunate in its lamentable 
fall, and for whom my humble muse has so often 
attempted to soar in songs of praise. 

ORION T. DOZIER. 



Contente 



PAGE 

""Adieu to ''Ninety-Four" i8i 

^ A Dream-City Dream 6i 

•^ A Dream that Was Not All a Dream 235 

"A Fragment 239 

- A Galaxy of Southern Heroes 13 

A Horrid Dream 263 

' A Hunter's Wish 153 

- Alabama 86 

A Lover's Pique 175 

sAn Evening Reverie 81 

"An Orphan's Story 208 

"A Philippic on Exemption Laws 192 

A Plea for Unity 172 

^ A Plea to Mayor Lane 256 

A Rebel's Reverie 78 

' A Sigh for the Sea 40 

-^A Spring Cant-Oh 135 

^A Wish 84 

■^A Woman of the Town 188 

^Be Careful How You Tread 71 

"Blithesome Little Libby 238 

*■ Booming Birmingham 266 

■"Brave Nickell of Kentucky 180 

- Cleopatra 137 

Club Song No. i 240 

Club Song No. 2 241 

Club Song No. 3 242 

Club Song No. 4 243 

' Coosa River 132 

Could I Forget? 107 

Courage and Ambition 116 

Cuban Isle, Fair Cuban Isle 249 



X CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Cupid's Auction iiQ 

Don't Forget Your Poor Old Mother 55 

- Don't It Sorter Look that Way? 95 

- Drifting Away 271 

'Dying Abelard - 176 

"Faith 94 

' For Freedom Float the Flags I Love 29 

Forget Me Not 238 

Georgia 89 

Give Me for a Friend 189 

Good-Bye - 196 

Good-Bye Song to F. L. S 259 

Gordon I44 

Hail, St. Patrick's Day 246 

I Do Not Know 59 

I'm in Love With Two Girls 162 

In Duteous Love We Come Again 163 

Infelice 7i 

• In Paradise 231 

I Really Will Be Dinged If I Do 193 

I Think I Thunk a Lie 36 

I Would Not See Her Face Again 160 

Jack Frost 258 

Jefferson Davis I57 

Kickers 244 

Life 254 

Lines for Jefferson Davis's Anniversary 74 

Lines for Thanksgiving Day 191 

Lines Sent With a Bouquet 142 

Lines to J. L. T 260 

Lines Written on the Fly-Leaf of a Book 268 

Love 258 

Man Was Made for Woe 123 

Memorial Day Invocation 233 

Mourn, Georgia, Mourn 228 

My Friend 200 

My Life Is Like a Ship at Sea 255 

My Losahatchie Home 229 

" My Mother's Heart ^'j 

My Native Land 269 

Natalitia 171 

No Compromise for Me 248 

-Not for Bread Alone 155 



CONTENTS XI 

PAGE 

Oh, Blessed Be the Land. 148 

Oochellulah 115 

Our Confederate Dead 42 

Our Nation's Shame : 198 

^"Our Order Here" 226 

Our Soldiers' Graves 174 

Our Sunny Land and Southern Dead 217 

Pepper Sauce 143 

Policy 129 

-Retrospection 48 

Rizpah 108 

Sermon by Uncle Mose, No. i - 75 

Sermon by Uncle Mose, No. 2 - 124 

Shall I Forget? 99 

Shame, O My Country, Shame 105 

Shams and Shacks 131 

Six and Thirty Years Ago 46 

^Slanderers of Gordon 222 

■^Some Day 113 

Song by Uncle Mose 165 

South Rome 257 

- Speech of Uncle Mose 90 

"Take Back the Lie 121 

The Army of Temperance 145 

« The Ballot 85 

The Crank 215 

•^The Death of Jefferson Davis 98 

The Death of Admiral Semmes 250 

^The Death of William McKinley 92 

'^The Death of Cheatham 140 

■The Dude 178 

^The Evening Prayer 102 

-The Exile's Wish 168 

■-The Flag and Harp of Erin 100 

" The Gallant Immunes 252 

"The Girls of Silver Creek 183 

'The Guitar 253 

■The Murdered Wife 262 

The Rationale of Sin 126 

The Right 202 

The Soldier's Grave 207 

"The Stars and Bars 68 

^The Stars and Stripes 103 



XU CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Unfortunate's Plea 212 

"The Vale of Losahatchie 72 

^ The Wreck 194 

-The Yankees Are Coming 265 

There Is No God !...... 158 

■Till I Come Back Again 221 

"Time 97 

'Tis Then I Think of You 259 

"To Lizzie 243 

^To Minnie 80 

'To-Morrow 151 

-Truthful Boler's Narrow Escape 57 

• Uncle Mose on the Prodigal's Return 63 

Uncle Mose on Independence Day no 

Waiting and Dreaming 159 

Waiting and Longing 186 

Waiting at the River 225 

We Come Once More 187 

Welcome Song 234 

Woman and the Snake 169 

- Woman 203 

You Are My Sweetheart Yet 118 



H (Balax? of Soutbern Meroce 



Once more the genial Southern sun 

Has called the roses into bloom, 
Once more the fragrant jessamine 

Lades all the air with sweet perfume ; 
Once more the little mating birds 

In every bush and tree are seen, 
Once more the earth her carpet spreads 

Of softest velvet-grassy green. 



II 



Once more the dove of peace is heard 

In every valley, glen and cove ; 
Once more I come with rapturous heart 

To greet the comrades that I love; 
And freed from hate and prejudice, 

All bitter memories laid aside, 
My muse but wakes to sing the praise 

Of those who for my country died. 



Ill 



And anon, here and there to lay 

A chaplet on some worthy brow 
Of glorious hero — yet alive — 

And, as I place it, humbly bow. 
As well I should, with reverence due ; 

For language is too weak to prove 
How deep, how strong the wond'rous depths 

Of my unfathomed founts of love. 



13 



IV 



But would to God my struggling muse 

Could break the bonds that bind my soul, 
And let my wild, impassioned thoughts 

Like ocean's stormy billows roll 
While I so vainly now attempt 

To sing in lofty paeans grand 
That meed of praise to patriots due — 

The heroes of my native land. 



V 



With Heaven's face for music scroll 

And realms of space for octave bars. 
My clefs should be the sun and moon, 

My music notes the blazing stars, 
And oh ! I'd sing with lofty strain 

And sweep the gamut of the skies, 
'Till every sleeping patriot's soul 

Should wake and from his grave arise ! 



VI 



But oh ! how feeble, weak am I, 

Poor, humble creature of the sod. 
Who deigns to touch a theme too grand 

For any being but that God 
Who rules the earth and realms above, 

Who speaks, and suns and worlds obey 
He, only He, the living God 

Their meed of praise can ever pay. 



14 



VII 



What tho' I had the cyclone's force, 

The flaming Hghtning for my tongue, 
A brain as broad as universe, 

My voice to tones of thunder strung, 
I still must fall unmeasured short 

In praise of those I fain would name, 
For God but made such God-like men 

To point the source from whence they came. 



VIII 



How many names — ^bright, glorious gems — 

In Southern galaxy are set, 
To blaze like suns forever bright 

In fame's eternal coronet. 
Behold you, first, our Washington, 

Whose hands the stars and stripes unfurled, 
A Christian soldier, patriot true. 

The foremost rebel of the vv^orld. 



IX 



Then see yon brilliant, fiery star. 

Proud Robert Toombs — majestic man, 
With wild, tempestuous, flaming soul, 

Too great for human words to span. 
From out whose rugged, heaving breast. 

In raging, seething tempests, rolled 
Consuming flames of eloquence — 

Mount Aetna, he, of human mold. 



15 



And could I paint with master hand 

The great Orion of the sky, 
With starry belt and lifted club, 

With daring mein to do or die, 
What would I do but hold to view 

The chief of that heroic clan 
Who San Jacinto's battle won, 

And name Sam Houston as the man. 



XI 



But countless as the countless stars 

That in the dome of heaven shine, 
Each name as bright as face of Mars, 

Made glorious by their deeds sublime, 
And bright'ning with the passing years 

Is that great constellation grand 
Who followed where our Davis led — 

The heroes of our Southern land. 



XII 



No low'ring cloud of dark defeat 

Can dim or shut their light from view. 
But high above the horizon. 

Where God to justice gives its due, 
They shine within a firmament 

As fixed as that of heaven's own, 
And shed a glory on the world. 

The brightest earth has ever known. 

i6 



XIII 

Go look upon Manassas' plains, 

Where Bull Run ever onward flows, 
No monument is needed there 

Our soldier's valor to disclose ; 
Eternal as that flowing stream 

Will rest the fame of him who fell, 
Brave, gallant Bartow leading on. 

While earth first shook with rebel yell. 



XIV 



And when will history cease to tell 

Of Shiloh's dark and bloody ground? 
Not whilst the stars in heaven shine 

And suns shall rise and worlds go round, 
For every patriot of the earth 

Who lights his soul with hopes of fame 
Will think of Shiloh and with pride 

Will mention Sidney Johnston's name. 



XV 



Then turn your gaze on Kenesaw, 

With rugged domes uplifted high, 
See there that altar built by God 

As fitting place for him to die 
Who cast aside his priestly robes 

For sword and belt and suit of gray — 
Brave, glorious Polk, the soldier-priest, 

Whose name shall live through endless day. 



17 



XVI 

Now fain would I if I but could 

Snatch from yon sunset's oriflame 
Its golden glories to illume 

My trembling lips that breathe the name 
Of him who died on gallows tree : 

Sam Davis, glorious martyred youth 
Who spurned the proffererd bribe of life 

To die for country and for truth. 



XVII 

And could my muse on soaring wing 

Mount up to yon celestial height 
Of star bespangled heavenly dome 

And pluck from out the Crown of Night 
Its brightest gems and diadems, 

And with God's aid transmute each flame 
To thoughts that blaze and words that burn, 

I'd weave a wreath and put to shame. 



XVIII 

The grandest eulogy of praise 

That poet's pen or mortal's tongue 
To woman fair has ever paid, 

And every thought with jewels hung 
Should be a royal, glittering gem 

Of radiance bright and beauty rare 
To crown the patriotic brow 

Of our Southern women fair. 



i8 



^ 



XIX 

Who thro' the long dark years of strife 

When battles raged, and seas of blood 
Deluged the land, and all but hope 

Was deep engulfed in sanguine flood, 
Came forth by legions in their love, 

More trustful then and constant far 
In glorious deeds of sacrifice 

Than thousands brave who fell in war. 



XX 



But not for me their praise to sing, 

Tho' Heaven I know, however sweet, 
Without their every presence there 

Must in its bliss be incomplete ; 
Then let some nobler tongue than mine 

That glorious, loving task essay ; 
I'll simply pray, God bless them all ! 

And sing of those who wore the gray. 



XXI 

For like the herald of the morn 

That paints the Oriental skies, 
With amber rays and gorgeous hues 

And heaven's own intermingling dyes. 
So but the thought of those who died 

For that Lost Cause, so just and right. 
Awakes my soul with glowing love 

And heavenly inspirations bright. 



19 



XXII 

Then give to me, O God, I crave. 

The power that never yet expressed 
Those thoughts that well within my soul 

And surge within my heaving breast, 
That I may reach a glorious height 

In epic strain and words sublime 
To weave an amaranthine wreath 

As fadeless as eternal time. 



XXIII 

To lay upon the hallowed shrines 

Of those for whom we mourn to-day, 
The noblest of heroic braves 

That ever went to battle fray 
And shed their blood on freedom's field, 

Disdaining life and glad to die 
Rather than their rights to yield. 

And now at home with God on high. 



XXIV 

What tho' no stone shall mark their graves. 

Nor sentry guard their place of rest, 
They sleep within their humble graves. 

Serenely sweet with glory blessed ; 
Whilst on each mountain, vale, and plain 

Where raged the storm of battle's flame 
They've left an everlasting print 

That marks them with their deathless fame. 



20 



XXV 

Go stand upon the Cumberland, 

Go view the heights of Tennessee, 
Go cHmb to Lookout's lofty point 

And gaze as far as eye can see ; 
On every crag and every plain, 

Marked by the storm of battle blast, 
The name of Bragg is over all, 

To linger there while time shall last. 



XXVI 

And hear you there the distant boom 

And feel you there the vibrant jar 
Of quaking earth beneath the roar 

Of thunder-crashing guns of war. 
Let loose by that young demigod — 

That re-incarnate soul of Jove, 
Bom but to reign 'mid battle storm. 

The kingly Pelham, gods might love. 



XXVII 

And lo ! above each mountain pass. 

Each hill and vale, each cove and glen, 
A glorious halo lingers yet. 

Where, meteor-like, that prince of men. 
In brilliant speed and splendor swept 

Athwart the flames on battle crest — 
Pat Cleburne with his flashing blade, 

The blazing comet of the West. 



21 



XXVIII 

Then look on yon great ocean wide, 

Extending far as billows sweep, 
Cut by the Alabama's keel — 

See there a name engraven deep, 
Eternal and as lasting there 

As Neptune's star in yonder sky — 
Brave Admiral Semmes, a hero grand, 

Whose name and fame can never die. 



XXIX 

And yet, oh yet, with rapturous eyes 

To Cuban Isle but turn your gaze, 
See where oppression long has reigned 

A rising star, destined to blaze 
Eternal on Old Glory, dear. 

Joe Wheeler, great in peace and war. 
Has plucked from out the Antilles 

For freedom's flag another star. 



XXX 

And when storm-rocked Atlanta shook 

And writhed beneath the shrieking shell, 
When tempests wild around her raged. 

And leaden hail in fury fell. 
When lightning flashed and thunders rolled 

And flowed her streets with crimson flood. 
Who then stood there — bright star of hope — 

But brave, defiant Ajax-Hood? 



22 



XXXI 

And o*er yon Old Dominion State, 

Star gemmed, her crown with glory shines, 
With Southern pride I here avow 

That nowhere on this earth's confines 
Can there be found another land 

Which can so many heroes claim. 
And bright amid her brightest stars 

Shines glorious Stonewall Jackson's name. 



XXXII 

And glittering like a royal gem 

Above my own fair Georgia high, 
I see another brilliant star, 

As bright as ever decked the sky. 
Intrepid, brilliant Gordon, brave. 

The patriot, statesman, warrior grand. 
Of Southern manhood, brightest type. 

An honor to his native land. 



XXXIII 

Nor less resplendent is the light 

Of him, old South Carolina's star, 
Whose fiery soul was made by God 

To blaze amid the storm's of war ; 
And high on fame's eternal height, 

With all the glorious and sublime. 
Wade Hampton's name, in glory set. 

Will shine while roll the wheels of time. 



23 



XXXIV 

Now see yon grand majestic stream, 

The great mid-continental sea, 
Whose course no human force can check, 

With currents deep yet flowing free. 
Unswerving in its onward sweep. 

Proud Mississippi, king of streams, 
See, and behold while gazing there 

A fitting type to me it seems 



XXXV 

Of him whose grand and kingly soul, — 

Too strong for tyrant bonds to quell, 
Too deep for prejudice to mar. 

Too broad to curb by prison cell, — 
Proud, God-like man, I breathe his name 

With reverence and with deathless love — 
Jeff Davis, brightest star of fame. 

May heaven rest his soul above. 

XXXVI 



But where, oh ! where, my wavering muse. 

Where wilt thou lead me in thy flight 
To find a type or simile 

Of him, the grandest, noblest knight 
That ever sword from scabbard drew ? 

Not in the land Columbus gave 
Canst thou a likeness for him find ; 

Then seek beyond old ocean's wave. 



24 



XXXVII 

Where God His grandest works designed ; 

Go view the Alps and Pyrenees, 
Then onward to the Himalays, 

Where great Mount Everest, rising, sees 
All other mountains far below, 

His own grand form enrobed with cloud, 
His royal head God crowned with snow — 

Yes, go and view this mountain proud — 



XXXVIII 

This great, majestic, towering king — 

The grandest, highest of the world — 
God's monument of strength and power, 

Defying every storm that's hurled, 
All lightning blows from rival foes ; 

Yes, go and you this mountain see. 
Then tell me if thou yet hast found 

A prototype of Robert Lee ! 



XXXIX 

Ah, no ! ah, no ! my faithful muse. 

Thou further yet must wing thy flight. 
Go mount yon Heaven's vaulted dome, 

Explore the "azure seas of night" ; 
Go poise amid the glittering throng 

Of starry pageants in the sky. 
And measure thou great Alcyone, 

The central sun of worlds on high. 



25 



XL 



'Round whom all suns and worlds revolve ! 

The first, the greatest, and the best 
Of all the shining heavenly spheres — 

And, poising there, thy wings may rest; 
For in that far celestial zone, 

There 'mid the circling pleiades see 
That king of worlds, imperial orb, 

God's prototype of Robert Lee. 



XLI 

And now, oh ! now, my halting muse, 

While poising 'mid celestial heights 
Of blazing suns and mighty worlds, 

Of shining moons and satellites, 
I bid thee, if thou canst, to pluck 

From orbs on high, celestial fire, 
And fling it down into my soul. 

That it may warm me and inspire. 



XLII 

My soul to higher, loftier strain 

Than ever bard hath dared to sing, 
For meed of praise to privates due 

Should make the very welkin ring 
And call angelic convoys down 

From Heaven's bright, supernal sphere, 
To catch the strain and tune their harps 

To notes that they would gladly hear. 

26 



XLIII 

What tho' no circumstance or pomp 

Hath written down each separate name — 
What tho' no granite cohimn tells 

The individual private's fame — 
What tho' on earth there 's no reward 

For all their suffering, toil and strife — 
Their names, thank God, in realms on high 

Are written in the "Book of Life." 



XLIV 

Yes, tho' unmarked and hardly known, 

Almost obscure and hid from view. 
Theirs is a glory, none the less. 

As bright as ever Heaven knew. 
Yea, like the rolling, shining orbs 

That glow in yonder ''Milky Way," 
Tho' only faint and dimly seen. 

They blaze as does yon god of day. 



XLV 

For never since the morning stars 

Together sang with joyful song 
O'er new-born earth, by God-head sent 

To join the grand, triumphal throng 
Of suns and worlds that onward sweep 

Around His great, majestic throne, 
Was ever truer, nobler men 

Than Southern private soldiers known. 



27 



XLVI 

Not even that celestial host 

Who drove, with wrathful thunders dire, 
The traitor Satan and his horde 

From Heaven's courts to pits of fire, 
Were more unselfish, brave and true 

Than was that grand, heroic band 
Who fought beneath the "Stars and Bars" 

For God, for home, and native land. 

XLVII 

And when old earth's last round is run, 

And God commands her march to halt. 
When Gabriel, adjutant on high. 

The roll shall read from yonder vault. 
Where suns and worlds, in ranks aligned. 

Shall stand to hear God's orders read, 
May crowns the brightest God can give 

Be there for every private's head. 



28 



Jfor iTreebom ifloat tbe flage 
■fl Xove 



Written for and read on the occasion of the Robert Emmet 
Anniversary Celebration at the Jefferson Theatre, Birmingham, 
Ala., March 4, 1902, under the auspices of the Gaelic Literary 
Club. 

I love the man who loves his God, 

His country and his fellow-man, 
No matter what his state or b;'rth. 

No matter what his creed or clan ; 
And in my very inmost heart, 

In spite of all that fates decree, 
I love him ever more and more, 

The more he loves his liberty. 



I love the flags, the fallen flags, 

Of every land of all the world 
By men upreared in freedom's cause. 

But which oppression's hands have furled. 
Their memory, like a sweet incense, 

A fragrance sheds, all hearts to thrill, 
And keeps aglow the lingering spark 

Of liberty remaining still. 

And by my faith in living God, 

I still maintain that free consent 
Of subjects is the only grant 

Entailing right of Government. 
That conquest only paves the way 

For brigands and despotic might. 
Which in the sight of Holy God 

Was never, nor can e'er be right. 

29 



I love the glorious stars and stripes, 

My great fore-father's flag and mine ; 
It gives me joy to see it wave 

Where'er it floats o'er Freedom's shrine, 
But if profaned by traitor hands, 

To subjugate on foreign shore 
A nation struggling to be free, 

If I were there, — 'twere mine no more. 

Nor would I follow in its wake, 

Nor treat with those who thus offend, 
For all who dare that flag pervert 

Deserve the death which has no end. 
And rather than that I should aid 

In such unjust, unholy shame, 
I'd suffer this warm heart of mine 

Torn from my breast and cast in flame. 

But if there be on this wide earth 

A people bowed by galling yoke 
Of tyrant. Emperor, King, or Czar, 

Who would be free, and should invoke 
"Old Glory's" shielding strength and might. 

Before my God I'd bid it fly 
And with it there myself would go, 

To make them free, or 'neath it die. 

I love the flag, the honored flag. 

Now drooping o'er the dying Boer, 
'T is tattered, drooping, sinking low ; 

Perhaps to float on earth no more. 
But braver deeds in freedom's cause 

Were never done by sons of Mars, 
Than those beneath Paul Kruger's flag, 

Old Erin's, and the Stars and Bars. 



3© 



And well may England stand aghast 

While she reviews the awful cost, 
And contemplates the countless graves 

Filled with the legions she has lost 
In trampling down that honored flag, 

Since well she knows not all her dead 
Were stricken down by native Boers, 

For thousands died from Irish lead. 

Nor will the Irish e'er forget 

To right the wrongs of England's might. 
Nor ever shirk or slight a chance 

To show her how they love to fight 
'Neath any flag in freedom's cause, 

Her mean, rapacious course to check. 
While she retains her despot heel 

Upon their prostrate country's neck. 

Nor love I less old Erin's flag, 

Kept sacred thro' the countless years 
Unspotted by a single stain, 

Save by a loving people's tears. 
I love it for its sacred cause, 

A cause forever dear to me, — 
The right ordained of God to man, — 

The right inherent to be free. 

Its hue, the shamrock's living green, 

Whose roots lie deep in mother sod, 
And like that plant, tho' crushed and torn, 

That flag though under foot be trod 
Survives in spite of time and fate. 

And like the sun in yonder sky 
Comes forth renewed at every turn. 

By God ordained to never die. 



31 



Born in the love of liberty, 

By faith enshrined in every heart 
That beats in breast of patriot 

Disdainful of the tyrant's art ; 
That flag shall yet triumphant wave 

Above the land that gave it birth, 
And kissed by every ocean breeze, 

Be hailed in every port on earth. 

For while the cycling years of time 

Roll onward in resistless sweep, 
Old Erin's sons throughout the world 

Next to their hearts that flag will keep, 
And longingly abide the day 

When they shall bear it back afar 
To that green Isle from whence exiled 

To blaze once more 'mid storms of war. 

Even now in my prophetic eye 

A vision grand sweeps on my view, 
I see a thousand mustering clans 

With dauntless leaders brave and true. 
Each panoplied and armed foi war, 

The green flag o'er them floating high, 
An army grand, a million strong. 

Resolved to conquer or to die. 

I also see a mighty fleet 

Of war-ships bounding through the spray. 
With every deck for action cleared, 

As now they enter Dublin Bay. 
And then I hear a mighty shout, 

A shout that seems the earth to shake. 
Wild cheers of joy, so long and loud 

Enough almost the dead to wake. 



32 



A stillness now comes over all, 

A stillness that precedes the storm, 
I see the legions grim and stern 

Now lining up in battle form. 
Ten thousand cannon frowning grim 

To muzzle filled with shot and shell, 
Mute war-dogs, waiting but the word 

To sound oppression's final knell. 

Far to the right and to the left 

Come platoons filing on platoons, 
Brave mounted knights in armor clad. 

An army grand of brave dragoons. 
White foam-flecked steeds with couriers bold 

Across the field are flying fast, 
I hear afar the drum's deep roll ; 

Earth soon shall quake 'neath battle blast. 

I turn my gaze and distant see 

The British legion's flag on high. 
I hear the signal bugle's call, 

The great conflict is drawing nigh. 
Brave leaders quick their sabers flash; 

Like thunder sounds the signal gun, 
Earth quivers 'neath the awful crash — 

No quarter now 'till freedom's won. 

A hundred thousand muskets blaze. 

Ten thousand cannon hurl their shell. 
Shots, shrapnel, grape and canister. 

Which hurtling shriek like fiends of hell. 
Exploding bombs like thunder crash, 

And rend the air with flaming breath. 
Whilst over all a sulphurous pall 

Now spreads a canopy of death. 



33 



Through which I see the dragoons charge, 

Their sabers flashing in the Hght 
Like Hghtning tongues in frenzied freak 

When storm gods ride the sea at night; 
I see them reach the flaming crest, 

Lean forward in their righteous wrath, 
Each blade descends and foes succumb 

Like brittle reeds in cyclone's path. 

More sombre grows the sulphurous cloud, 

More ominous seems the awful din. 
Yet now and then I catch the sound 

Of leaders cheering on their men. 
And bright o'er all like meteors flash 

That rives the darkness of the sky, 
I see old Erin's bright green flag 

Still triumphant floating high. 

Though fierce indeed the conflict's been, 

Thank God for all, when day is done 
The British flag lies in the dust — 

Old Erin's flag the fight has won ! 
No more St. George's cross shall wave 

O'er Ireland redeemed and free — 
The harp and shamrock takes its place, 

Bright emblems of her liberty. 

Start not nor deem my vision wild, 

Or but a vain and empty dream. 
The future yet the truth shall prove 

^Tis prophecy, whate'er it seem. 
For mills of God grind slow indeed, 

But grind they do exceeding fine. 
And Irish pluck and patience yet 

Shall see fulfilled this dream of mine. 



34 



Till then ! till then ! let prayers ascend 

To God above who rules the world, 
To speed with haste the coming day 

When that dear flag shall be unfurled 
And Erin's sons throughout the earth 

'Neath spreading sail through ocean's foam 
For God, for justice, and the right 

Shall bear that glorious banner home. 

And when in grand imperial might 

It floats unchallenged, bold and free 
O'er Ireland redeemed at last, 

From every thrall of tyranny 
And breast abreast with nations great, 

In royal robes of majesty, 
She stands confessed by all the world 

An independent nation free, 

Then let the man by God inspired, 

With scintillating genius bright 
And heart aglow with rapt'rous love 

Make haste the glorious task to write 
That yet unwritten epitaph. 

In thoughts that burn and words that flame. 
And when 't is done, above it write 

The Martyred Hero, Emmett's name! 



35 



11 Zhin\\ II ITbunft a Xie 

I used to think when I was young, 

And my heart was free from guile, 
That there was grief in every tear 

And joy in every smile; 
That friendship was not all a cheat 

And love could never die, 
But thinking now of what I thunk, 

I think I thunk a lie. 

I used to think about myself. 

And think that I would be 
A Governor or a President, 

Or a General like Lee; 
But I have waited long in vain, 

Whilst years rolled slowly by, 
And, thinking now of what I thunk, 

I think I thunk a lie. 

I used to think the ladies were 

All sweetnesses combined, 
That they were all God's last and best 

Of perfectness refined; 
That they were not half pads and paint. 

But angels from on high. 
But, thinking now of what I thunk, 

I think I thunk a lie. 

The preachers, too, I used to think, 

Were not like other men, 
And were not tempted of the flesh, 

And could not, therefore, sin ; 
But since I've traveled round a bit 

I've watched them on the sly, 
And, thinking now of what I thunk, 

I think I thunk a lie. 

36 



The honest tiller of the soil, 

When marketing his crop, 
Takes pains to put the ripe and best 

Always upon the top ; 
I used to think those honest men 

Would never cheat nor try. 
But, thinking now of what I thunk, 

I think I thunk a lie. 

The editors, a lordly set. 

Who live on milk and honey, 
They've nothing else on earth to do 

But write and rake in money ; 
Leastwise, that way I used to think, 

But now it makes me cry. 
To think about the way I thunk. 

And how I thunk a lie. 

What noble men the doctors are ! 

I used to think they came 
From Heaven or some heavenly land 

And worked for love and fame; 
That they could cure all human ills, 

And never let us die, 
But, thinking now of wdiat I thunk, 

I think I thunk a lie. 

The lawyers, too, I used to think — 

Oh, God forgive the thought — 
That their convictions of the right 

Could not by knaves be bought ; 
That they would not a client rob. 

Or ''sell" him on the sly. 
But, thinking now of what I thunk, 

I think I thunk a lie. 



Z1 



The dry-goods men are honest, too, 

They'll swear they sell at cost, 
I used to think they told the truth, 

And all their profits lost; 
I thought a yard was full three feet, 

Don't ask my reasons why, 
But, thinking now of what I thunk, 

I think I thunk a lie. 

The hotel clerk, I used to think, 

Would try to be polite, 
Would answer questions put to him, 

And treat a stransfer rigfht : 
And rather than he'd play the ass 

That he would sooner die. 
But, thinking now of what I thunk, 

I think I thunk a lie. 

The Democrats, I used to think, 

If once they got the floor, 
Would turn the dirty rascals out, 

And kick 'em from the door. 
That they would stop the tariff steal 

That piles the surplus high. 
But, thinking now of what I thunk, 

I think I thunk a lie. 

And then I thought that Harrison, 

Who took old Grover's shoes. 
Would have the backbone and the grit 

To give us all our dues ; 
But tariff laws and pension frauds 

Still make the nation sigh. 
And, thinking now of what I thunk, 

I think I thunk a lie. 



38 



I used to think elections were 

The pubHc will to voice, 
And not a thimble-rigging game 

To give the cliques their choice; 
That patriotism played its part, 

Tho' stills were never dry, 
But, thinking now of what I thunk, 

I think I thunk a lie. 

I used to think that public schools 

Would fill a long-felt need, 
By teaching all our boys and girls 

To write and spell and read ; 
But now red tape and rottenness 

Is everywhere the cry; 
And, thinking now of what I thunk, 

I think I thunk a lie. 

The niggers, too, I used to think. 

If once they were set free, 
Would make good, honest citizens, 

Like white folks used to be; 
But they have wandered far from grace, 

The chickens still roost high. 
And, thinking now of what I thunk, 

I think I thunk a lie. 

I used to think the town police. 

With all his blue and brass, 
Would never sleep upon his post. 

Nor let a criminal pass ; 
That on "blind tigers" they would keep 

An ever watchful eye, 
But, thinking now of what I thunk, 

I think I thunk a lie. 



39 



Our prison house, I used to think, 

A model kind of jail, 
That they who'd try its walls to break 

Would most assuredly fail; 
That guardsmen there to duty sworn 

Would ne'er let prisoners fly, 
But, thinking now of what I thunk, 

I think I thunk a lie. 

I used to think the poor Chinee 

Was worse than "Melican man" — 
That we should missionaries send 

With civilization's plan; 
But thinking now of late events 

Beneath our Southern sky, 
I rather think that what I thunk 

Was "wusser" than a lie. 



H Sigb for tbe Sea 

O, give me a home by the deep, blue sea, 

The ocean all boundless and wide. 
Let me list to the sounds that ever resound 

In its every sweet murmuring tide ; 
At morn let me wake, its breakers to hear. 

At night let it lull me to sleep ; 
In its murmurs, though drear, there's music to 
cheer, 

When my heart seems melting to weep, 

40 



I long to walk by the surf-beaten shore, 

And to gaze o'er the watery main, 
Which beats on the strand of my own native land, 

That never shall know me again; 
For tho' a poor exile, wandering afar, 

Unfriended, unloved, I must roam, 
My heart ever yearns and longingly turns 

To that ocean-bound isle of my home. 

Then marvel you not that I sigh for a place 

On the shores of the deep blue sea. 
For each billow that gleams a messenger seems 

From that land that is dearest to me ; 
And I hear in each breeze that comes o'er the 
seas, 

The voice of a loved one fair. 
Who, waiting so long for her lover's return, 

Has gone to her grave in despair. 

And now all the joy in life that I ask. 

Is to walk and to muse by the sea. 
Whose every low surge is a funeral dirge 

For that loved one now lost to me; 
And to gaze o'er the main, with longings tho' 
vain. 

And to mingle my tears with the wave 
Which the tides in their sweep would bear o'er 
the deep 

To moisten the grass on her grave. 



41 



^®ur Confc&erate ©cab* 

Wake up, my muse, from slumber rise. 

Bright is the earth and fair the skies ; 

The birds are singing everywhere, 

And flowers sweet perfume the air ; 

Sweet gentle spring has come again. 

And everywhere on hill and plain 

Artistic Nature's works are seen 

In festoons fair and banners green. 

Then wake, my muse, attune thy lyre, 

My soul with melody inspire. 

And let me now the thoughts impart 

That echo in my loyal heart 

And surge within my heaving breast, 

Tho' all in vain to be expressed. 

No simple rhyming roundelay 

Will now suffice, for I essay 

To sing in grand and rapt'rous strain 

The praises of our hallowed slain. 

Yes, 'tis of these my song shall be, 

Brave martyrs, they, to liberty. 

And oh, my muse could never ask 

A more sublime or holy task. 

For never since the world began. 

Since God created living man. 

Has ever more heroic band 

Been marshaled out in any land 

Than they who took the sword in hand 

To battle for our Southern land; 

Nor braver men have ever bled, 

Nor better blood was ever shed. 



*Written for and read on Memorial Day, April 26th, 1896, by 
request of Camp Hardee, U. C. V. 

42 



Nor shed for cause more pure and grand, 
Than was that of our Southern band. 
Then would to God my muse could rise 
On soaring wing to yonder skies 
And pluck the shining orbs of night 
Like roses, that in garlands bright, 
Each star might shine an immortelle 
For those who for my country fell. 
I durst, if such I could but do. 
Snatch from yon dome of azure hue 
Each sun and moon and satellite 
That beams within the crown of night 
For this my song, that every line 
Might scintillate and brightly shine 
Effulgent, glorious, and so grand 
That everywhere on sea and land 
The hosts of earth entranced should stand, 
And up on high the angels' band 
Should cease their songs and gladly hear 
A strain so glorious and so clear. 
Yet even then 'twere all in vain. 
And poor indeed the rapt'rous strain. 
For though each word and every thought 
With inspiration's glow was fraught. 
And voiced with grand crescendo swell, 
In praise of those who fought and fell, 
'Twould be in vain and fail indeed 
To give to them one tithe the meed 
Of praises due, or faintly tell 
How God-like, grand and brave they fell; 
For mortal pen, nor mortal tongue, 
Nor angel choir hath ever sung 
A song of praise in lofty strain 
Half worthy of our martyred slain. 
And yet for all, my humble muse, 
When called to sing will not refuse. 
43 



But catching inspiration's gleam 
From Heaven sent, my noble theme 
Should be enough my soul to fire, 
To warm me and my heart inspire, 
And make each word and every line 
With beauty and with brilliance shine, 
For nobler theme was never given 
To man on earth or saint in Heaven 
Than that which stirs my soul today — 
The praise of men who wore the gray! 
From burning Sumter, by the sea, 
To Appomattox's apple tree; 
From Chesapeake in Maryland 
To border shores of Rio Grande, 
Like demigods from first to last 
They met the raging battle blast, 
And daunted not by thunder crash 
Of cannonade, or lightning flash 
Of musketry, all undismayed, 
With bayonet and flashing blade 
They struggled on, or fighting fell. 
Their only cry, the rebel yell, 
Which in its wild defiant notes 
Outrang the brazen cannon's throats. 
And higher, louder seemed to rise, 
As on they fought, till earth and skies 
Reverb'rant shook, till at the last 
High Heaven looked and stood aghast 
To see the wreck and carnage dire 
Left in their wake of stubborn ire. 
But look today — how changed the scene. 
Those battle-fields are wrapped in green. 
And beauteous flowers, fresh in bloom. 
Distilling out their sweet perfume. 
While high o'er all is sweetly heard 
The peaceful notes of mocking-bird, 
44 



And o'er each mound that marks the grave 
Where rests the bones of martyred brave. 
Our lovely women, sweet and fair, 
Will come today with garlands rare 
Of evergreens and richest blooms 
To decorate those hallowed tombs ; 
And as they kneel and place them there, 
With fervent heart will send a prayer 
To Him who reigns beyond the sky. 
To bless their ashes where they lie, 
And grant to each in Heaven a place 
Who fought for home and pride of race. 
And died defending Southern rights, 
True to their God, chivalrous knights. 
And in that last great coming day. 
When time on earth shall cease for aye. 
And God shall call from out the skies 
To all the dead of earth to rise, 
I trust to see in that great day 
Our marshaled hosts in grand array, 
Each laurel-crowned with victor's wreath. 
Triumphant over sin and death, 
Soar up in one great column grand 
To that supreme celestial land, 
Where angels and archangels bright 
Shall open wide the gates of light 
And gladly hail and welcome them, 
Whilst cherubim and seraphim, 
And everything with voice to sing, 
Shall join to make the heavens ring 
With gladsome shout and welcome song 
To God's redeemed — the mighty throng 
Whose praises now we sing with pride, 
The bravest men that ever died. 



45 



Six anb ^birti? Ideate Hqo 

Since six and thirty years ago 

What changes time has wrought ; 
Wild roses sweet now bud and blow 

Where battles then were fought. 
O'er hardened glebe where armies trod 

The plowman drives afield, 
In peaceful trust and faith in God 

For bounteous harvest-yield. 

The tinkling bell of gentle flock 

Is heard on grassy plain 
Once seared and torn in battle shock, 

And piled with human slain, 
Whilst pretty homes now crown the hills 

Where frowning forts then stood, 
And limpid flows the purling rills 

Once red with patriot's blood. 

The wild and frenzied hate of men, 

Thank God, is changed to love. 
And now, instead of battle din. 

The voice of cooing dove 
Floats softly on the summer breeze 

In cadence sweet and clear. 
And lulls the warrior now at ease 

At home with loved ones dear. 

Grim, blackened ruins that whilom, stood 

In paths where armies led, 
With lighted torch, through fields of blood, 

Are gone, and now instead, 
With joy, behold, in grandeur sprung 

From, out those rueful fires 
A newer South, whose rapt'rous tongue 

A newer song inspires. 
46 



She sings of re-united land, 

Where hearts and hands unite ; 
She sings with joy of union grand, 

Of happy homes so bright 
With love and peace and plenty blest 

Where hangs the rusting blade, 
That erstwhile flashed on battle crest 

When war this land dismayed. 

But whilst she sings, remembers still 

The South of auld lang syne. 
That dear old South whose memories thrill 

This poor old heart of mine ; 
For never once can I forget 

The glory and the pride 
Which, hallowed, lingers round her yet, 

Till I in death abide. 

No wail of woe or hate or spite 

Discordant mars the strain. 
Her cause we know was just and right, 

'Twas freedom to maintain ; 
And though by whelming odds oppressed 

Her flag from her was torn. 
Before the world it stands confessed 

The purest ever borne. 

And though it never floats again, 

Though never more unfurled, 
Its story true without a stain 

Will glorify the world. 
For those who bore that banner bright 

Through seas of gore and flame 
A record left on glory's height 

Of never dying fame. 

47 



And whilst the cycling whirl of time 

Unceasing, onward rolls, 
The record of their deeds sublime 

Beneath its sacred folds 
Will, brightening with the lapse of years, 

In brighter brilliance flame, 
Till every orb in astral spheres 

Shall see and pale with shame. 



IRetroepection 

(Read at Memorial Exercises, April 26, 1902.) 

With Ides of March the winter's gone. 

Her snowy robes she's put away, 
The April sun resplendent shines 

And warms the earth with genial ray. 
The soft south winds from southern seas 

Sigh with their loads of sweet perfume. 
Whilst vale and cove and hill and dale 

Are wrapped in robes of gorgeous bloom. 

All nature seems in smiling mood. 

And everywhere in copse and grove 
The merry thrush and mocking-bird. 

Are caroling their songs of love. 
No glint of grief or gloom appears 

Beneath the bright cerulean sky, 
And yet within this heart of mine 

I can't repress a rising sigh. 

48 



For flowers bright and songs of birds, 

The breath of spring with sweet perfume 
Recall to mind that April day 

When years ago the cannon's boom 
Rang wildly out in Charleston bay, 

And round the earth a shudder sent, 
For all who heard that ominous gun 

Knew but too well just what it meant. 

All knew it meant that bonds were rent 

Which long had bound our Union strong, 
That ties of friendship, kinship, love. 

Were severed then, and all the wrong 
That comes with war, grim-visaged war, 

Must needs be borne, since right of might 
Thenceforth must rule, and reason just 

Give way to passion, hate, and spite. 

Even now in retrospective view 

The supervening years but seem. 
With all their turmoil, loss and strife, 

A fevered brain's distempered dream — 
I see invading armies come 

With sword and torch and hearts of hate ; 
I see our towns and cities burned, 

Our happy homes made desolate. 

I see with grief on field and plain 

Contending hosts in deadly fray ; 
I mark the wreck and carnage dire. 

The terror and the dread dismay 
Of helpless children, mothers, wives. 

Outcasts — all homeless, hungry, sad, 
Poor, footsore, wandering refugees 

From ruthless men by war made mad. 

49 



Our women, then — God bless their souls ! — 

Like Spartan mothers, every one, 
Bade fathers, brothers, husbands, go — 

Even sons who scarce could shoulder gun- 
Yea, bade them by their honor go ; 

Encouraged all to go and fight, 
And fighting win or fighting die. 

For God, for country and the right. 

And then I see their soft white hands, 

Unused before to work and toil, 
All calloused now by cotton cards 

And menial labors, that despoil 
Their softness, as the spinning wheel 

And noisy, homely, old-time loom. 
For which they'd put guitars aside, 

Pianos, too, to give them room. 

From spinning, weaving, making cloth 

To clothe their loved ones in the field, 
I mark their cheeks grow wan and pale. 

See griefs that cannot be concealed — 
Yes, see them stifling back the tear 

And smiling at privations long; 
Returning grim starvation's stare 

With fortitude and courage strong. 

I see them wending through the camp, 

Ministering to maimed and sick ; 
Bathing and binding bloody wounds. 

Then hastening on with footsteps quick 
To kneel beside the dying cot 

Where some poor soul is ebbing 'way. 
And there in accents sweet and low 

To aid that dying soul to pray. 

50 



Oh, would to God I yet could wake, 

And, waking, find 'twere all a dream ; 
That all the memories of those days 

Were not as real as yet they seem ; 
That never women such as they — 

So fair, so pure, so free from, stain — 
Should e'er be forced by cruel war 

To bear such trials, grief, and pain. 

But, after all, God knows what's right, 

And suffers all things for the best ; 
Such memories serve to whet the love 

And feed the flames within the breast, 
And suffers not the heart to chill, 

But lights the soul, illumes the mind 
With brighter, brilliant, just esteem 

For all the world of woman-kind. 

Nor yet, please God, would I forget 

The faithfulness of dusky slave 
Who steadfast stood in those dark days 

To shield, protect, to feed and save 
The loved ones of their master's fold, 

And by their faithful service proved 
Throughout the four long years of war 

Their Constance and unselfish love. 

And be it known forever more 

Their Constance and devotion then 
Set condemnation on the tongues 

That slandered all slave-holding men. 
And be it known those faithful slaves, 

By their steadfast fidelity. 
Won from the South its free guerdon 

And willing grant of liberty. 

51 



Nor will the sons of Southern sires, 

So chivalrous, so true and brave. 
E'er cease to shield, advise and help 

The offspring of the old-time slave ; 
But granting them all credit due 

For what they are, or yet may be. 
Let not one shadow of regret 

E'er dim the fate that made them free. 

We took them wild, uncivilized — 

Taught them to labor and to think ; 
Placed in their hands the Book of Life, 

The fount of truth, that they might drink. 
We took them, beasts, we made them men, 

But not co-equals with our race. 
God ne'er ordained or will'd that they 

Should reach that grand exalted place. 

Yet never higher compliment 

To Southern people has been paid 
Than by our Northern conquerors, 

Who by their own enactments said 
That those whilom black faithful slaves, 

Whom we had taught, and they made free. 
Were worthy of all civil rights. 

And with themselves equality. 

But let that pass, be as it may. 

We'll neither censure nor condemn ; 
But this will say, the negro knows 

Just where to seek and find a friend. 
Not in the East nor in the West, 

Nor in the North can he yet find 
Such generous help, such treatment fair. 

As here from Southern friends so kind. 

52 



Nor will the great warm Southern heart 

Withhold its pardon full and free 
From all who may have been to blame 

For wrongs of inhumanity 
Done in those times of heated strife 

When men with passions overwrought 
Did crimes which, if remembered still, 

Are surely not with vengeful thought. 

To darkness of oblivion's tomb 

Let bitter memories all be cast. 
We'll clasp the hand of former foes, 

Unheedful of the bitter past. 
That they were brave full v/ell we know, 

And doubtless to convictions true — 
They shed their blood on fields of death — 

What more could any patriot do? 

But whilst the cycling seasons roll, 

And time with earth shall still remain. 
The Stars and Bars, that fallen flag. 

So fair, so bright, so free from stain, 
Shall still survive on history's page. 

Where naught can dim its lustrous light. 
For God above — the God we love — 

Knows that its cause was just and right. 

Nor will the brave, chivalric men 

Whose hands upheld that banner bright, 
And wrote their names in deeds sublime 

On honor's everlasting height, 
Be e'er forgot or honored less 

While centuries shall speed their way. 
For earth shall never more behold 

Another band so grand as they. 

53 



Tried by the most exacting rules 

To mortals known the soul to test, 
They measured up to every height, 

And by the world they stand confessed 
The bravest, truest, noblest type 

Of daring knight and cavalier 
That ever struck for human rights 

Or died with such disdain of fear. 

Then, whilst on earth there yet survives 

A remnant of that glorious band, 
May God his guardian angels send 

To guide and lead them by the hand 
Past every danger, hardship, strife. 

And safely pilot them the way 
Through the shadowy vale of death 

To havens of eternal day. 

Where foes will never more oppress. 

And hate and strife be never known ; 
Where all the just and brave of earth 

Shall meet around the great white throne, 
And there in grand reunion sweet 

Clasp hands with comrades gone before. 
And join in everlasting songs 

Of praise to God forevermore. 



54 



Don't fovQct l^our poor ©lb 
flDotber 

When young my heart was happy, I loved my 

dear old home, 
Till reading of adventurers that tempted me to 

roam; 
Vain longings quelled my reason, ambitions filled 

my breast; 
I left my home and loved ones and wandered far 

out West : 
I met with wild companions and led a wayward 

life, 
I learned to drink and gamble, and oft engaged 

in strife; 
But sickness came upon me and filled me with 

despair. 
Then dear old mother's parting words came ring- 
on my ear. 

CHORUS 

Don't forget your poor old mother. 
Don't forget your mother. Will; 

Don't forget your poor old mother, 
She is praying for you still. 

One day I got a letter, and in that letter read, 
Dear Will, your poor old father is numbered with 

the dead; 
Your sister and your brother have long since gone 

away. 
Your poor old mother's all alone, no one with her 

to stay; 

55 



Her tresses now are whiter than when you saw 

her last, 
Her steps are slow and feeble, her years are 

nearly past; 
Each day I see her waiting and watching every 

train, 
I know her heart is breaking, Will, to see her boy 

again. 

CHORUS 

Don't forget your poor old mother 
Don't forget your mother. Will; 

Don't forget your poor old mother, 
She is praying for you still. 

I read that letter over and then made up my mind. 
Back to my home to hasten to mother sweet and 

kind; 
I reached the cottage portal and bounded in the 

door. 
But the place, alas, was vacant, she'd gone for- 
ever more ; 
In silent desolation the place had long been left, 
Of every charm that hallowed 'twas now, alas, 

bereft ; 
A passing stranger told me the story of her death. 
And these the words she dying spake with her 
last parting breath. 

CHORUS 

Don't forget your poor old mother 
Don't forget your mother. Will; 

Don't forget your poor old mother. 
She is praying for you still. 



S6 



tTrutbful Boler'6 IRarrow fiecape 

You may talk of Georgia cyclones, 

Of Alerbamer rains — 
'Bout yer South Car'liny earthquakes, 

Or Georgy harricanes ; 
But it's only we who've traveled 

Over the plains out West 
Have ever seed th' elements 

Jest fairly do their best. 

As for what you call yer cyclones 

Or harricanes yer 've had, 
Which brush away a town or two. 

An' which you think so bad. 
If compared to Western blizzards, 

In works of wreck and death, 
Why, they're no more like cyclones 

Than is a baby's breath. 

Of course, yer 've had some winters cold. 

Some summers kinder hot; 
But the West can more than beat yer, 

Yet never strike er trot. 
It ain't no use of talkin' 

Or listenin' ter yer chumps. 
For when it comes ter weather 

The West has got ther trumps. 

Yer cyclones and yer Georgy storms, 

I honestly avow. 
If they occurred in Texas 

They'd hardly stop er plow ; 
Unless it was in springtime, 

'Long 'bout the fust uv May, 
When folks mout go er-fishing. 

Jest ter enjoy the day. 

57 . . 



I've seen it git so cold out thar, 

Little as yer may think, 
That all the liquor 'd freeze so hard 

We couldn't git er drink, 
An 'ter keep ourselves from freezin' 

We'd bust the barrel's head, 
An' eat it with er knife an' fork, 
Jest like 'twas meat an' bread. 

An' then I've seed it git so hot 

That every lake an' stream 
Would fairly bile an' cook the fish, 

While rising fogs uv steam 
Would float off like er mighty cloud 

An' shet the sun fum sight — 
An' make the day at twelve er clock 

As dark as at midnight. 

Now, as fer storms uv rain an' hail, 

You fellers couldn't dream 
Of sich er scrape as I had once 

While drivin' uv er team — 
Er six-mule perary schooner 

Er cross er Texas plain ; 
Oh, sich er scrape I trust th' Lord 

I'll never have ergain. 

Er hundred miles frum house or tree, 

Er shed of any kind. 
When all at once I seed er cloud. 

An' heard er roarin' wind. 
While rain began ter fall in sheets 

At least four inches thick; 
Hail, too, sot inter comin' down 

Like walls of fallin' brick. 



58 



Th' stones were big as cocoanuts, 

Not lighter by an ounce, 
An' as they hit yer oughter seed 

Jest how they 'd thump and bounce. 
They pounded every mule ter death, 

My wagon broke ter smash 
An' when th' storm was over 

It was jest er pile of trash. 

Oh, I tell yer it was awful, 

Jes' almost makes me cry ; 
What! does any of you fellers 

S'pose I would tell a lie? 
How did I escape, you ask, 

I'll tell yer all right now — 
'Twas by downright darn good dodgin' 

An' by prayin' — that 's jest how. 



IF Do mot Iknow 

Sometimes I pause in awful doubt 

That God e'er answers prayer. 
And ask, if so, why my poor heart 

Is left to its despair ; 
And why, if God can hear and aid 

The plea of those distressed. 
There comes no peace to break the gloom 

That burdens my poor breast. 
For earnestly I've sought in vain. 

Through prayer's most fluent flow. 
But why my pleas are answered not, 

I do not know, I do not know. 



59 



And when I sink into the tomb, 

Shall I yet rise again? 
Shall sentient soul rebel with earth 

And breaking death's cold chain, 
Leave cold, corrupting clay behind 

And mount to other spheres ; 
Or sleep in apathetic dust 

Through time's eternal years, 
Forgetful and forgot of earth 

With all its joys and woe? 
Alas, though oft I question thus, 

I do not know, I do not know. 

Beneath my own fair sunny skies, 

Beyond my native land, 
'Neath alien stars, in lands afar. 

Beyond old ocean's strand, 
I Ve sought to learn what might be known 

Of God's most holy plan 
To purge the world of wickedness 

And save the soul of man ; 
But priests and preachers prate of creeds, 

No light can they bestow, 
And still in darkness, I confess, 

I do not know, I do not know. 



60 



H 2)ream Citi? Dream* 

Near twelve o'clock one summer night, 

At great "Columbian Fair/' 
All wearied out, with brain oppressed 

From viewing wonders there, 
I sat me down a while to rest 

In a building wondrous grand, 
And soon my soul was lulled to sleep 

By strains from Gilmore's band. 

I know not just how long I slept. 

Nor what took place the while. 
But there amid that stranger throng 

With music to beguile, 
A stranger lone I fell asleep. 

And think I must have dreamed. 
The music was a medley sweet. 

Or so at least it seemed. 

I heard or dreamed, or dreamed I heard, 

"Way down on the Swanee," 
And back in old plantation home 

Once more I seemed to be. 
I heard the darkies' happy songs. 

And my heart was filled with joy. 
To be once more amid the scenes 

I loved so when a boy. 



*The group of buildings comprising the Columbian Fair were 
called the "Dream City." 

6i 



Another old familiar strain, 

While dreaming there I heard, 
Sweet ''Annie Laurie," and my soul 

A^^ain with love was stirred. 
And by my side I seemed to see 

My love of days gone by, 
And felt that I, for her sweet sake, 

"Would lay me down and die." 

A pause, then faintly on my ear 

The sweet notes seemed to fall, 
Of "Home, Sweet Home," that sweetest strain, 

And dearest, too, of all. 
And in my heart a rapture wrought 

Of peace and joy and love — 
A vision bright of all that's dear — 

A glimpse of Heaven above. 

But hark ! A change : my sleep was broke, 

My Southern heart was fired, 
By strains the grandest, sweetest yet 

That ever God inspired. 
'Twas "Dixie Land" that on my ear 

In thrilHng raptures fell, 
I sprang to feet, threw hat in air, 

And yelled a "rebel yell !" 

Three cheers ! I cried, for Dixie Land, 

The land that gave me birth, 
Three cheers, and then a "tiger, too," 

For grandest land on earth. 
What recked I then of thousands there 

Who gazed with scornful eye? 
When grand old "Dixie" smote my ear, 

I had to yell or die. 

62 



lancle flD06e on tbe probigare 
IReturn 

I don't go much on brag an' blow, 

An' all dat kind er stuff, 
But w'en it comes ter w'at I know 

I gess I knows enuff. 
I 'se read de Bible tru an' tru, 

An' Watson's Commontater. 
An' w'at I hasn't got from books 

I' se larned from common nater. 

I 'se read er heap er books on law — 

On fisic quite er number, 
But de Bible am de book of books — 

I '11 tell yer it 's a hummer. 
It tells erbout ole Prodigal 

An' his two grown-up boys. 
Who uster run er cattle ranch 

Way up in Illinoise. 

Now dat ole granger Prodigal, 

Had ways a little quar. 
But when it come ter business 

He wus allers far an' squar. 
He neber took ter politics, 

Nor seemed ter keer er cent 
Who wus 'lected Guverner 

Nor who wus Preserdent. 



63 



He tended strictly tu his ranch, 

An' raised er sight er stock ; 
He wus er hard-shell in belief — 

His lied wus like er rock. 
His young-es' son were n't built dat way, 

He wus lazy like an' rude ; 
He wud n't plow nor mind de stock, 

But had ter be er dude. 

So one day w'en he met his dad. 

Way down beside de branch, 
He sed : "Ole dad, I want 'er cash 

My interest in de ranch. 
In mind I 'se made up w'at I '11 do, 

I'll tell you now my plan — 
I 'm gwine erway to some big town 

An' make myse'f a man." 

De ole man stood a while, den sed : 

"I think I see yer game; 
Like dat ole sockless Kansas chap, 

Yer want ter win er name. 
Well, yer shall hab in solid cash 

Yer hones' riteful shere 
Ob all de Ian', de cows an' sheep. 

An' eberyting dat's here." 

An' so de ole man went ter town 

An' drawed from out der bank 
Enough of gold and silver coin 

Ter fill er water tank, 
An' fotch it home in leather bags. 

An' give it ter dat boy, 
Who almost cut de pigeon wing. 

He wus so full ob joy. 

64 



Well, dat smart Alec wid his cash 

Lit out upon de kyars 
Ter try his luck in Chicago, 

Ermong de bulls and bars 
He bought er place in de exchange, 

An' went it strong on wheat. 
An' what he lost he tried ergin 

Ter make it up on meat. 

On cotton nex' he posted up 

Ter give dat game er whack, 
Hopin' dat he 'd make er deal 

An' win his losses back. 
But fortune did n't seem ter smile 

Upon him wuth er cent, 
An' ever' dollar dat he had 

Ter kiver margins went. 

His watch an' chain he nex' put up 

Ter raise a final stake, 
But lost it on three-card monte 

Played by a circus fake. 
Now busted flat as he cud be, 

Widout a single nick. 
He had ter ax his boardin' miss 

Ter let him run on tick. 

But w'en er man is out er cash, 

He's sho' ter lose his smile. 
An' soon his boadin' miss foun' out 

Dat he had drapped his pile ; 
An' den she bounced him out ob doors, 

Ter loaf upon de street. 
An' nex' de free lunch counter man 

Jist bounced him fer a beat. 

65 



Ter steer ergin de vagrant law, 

An' not git floated in, 
Wus mo' den he cud hope ter do, 

Widout er home er f rien' : 
An' so he hid hisse'f all day. 

Till it wus gittin' dusk, 
Den slipped out ter de slaughter pen 

An' filled hisse'f on husk. 

But second table after hogs 

Was not sich sumpchus fare 
As dat young chap cud git at home, 

If he wus only dere. 
An' so he, talkin' to hisse'f, 

Sed, "I will jist be durn, 
Even ef I have ter hop cross-ties, 

I '11 tu my dad return." 

An' so he straightway hit de grit — 

Jist lit out fer his home — 
An' 't was n't many days before 

In sight he 'd fairly come. 
De ole man, lookin' down de road, 

His wanderin' son espied, 
Den run an' fell upon his neck. 

An' sobbed and blubbering, cried. 

Den takin' him inter de house 

Give him his Sunday cote, 
His bran new boots an' diamon' ring. 

An' dressed him like er spote. 
Fine invitations by him sent 

All round de country flew, 
Invitin' all his friens' ter cum 

Out ter er barbicue. 



66 



He sent out fer his oberseer, 

An' bid him quickly kill 
De fattes' ox upon de ranch, 

His sons an' friens' ter fill. 
He sed he did n't keer er cent 

Fer w'at de world might say. 
He felt so glad ter see his son 

He'd celebrate de day. 

His udder boy w'at stayed at home — 

Young Elder wus his name — 
Heerd of de racket gwine on 

An' 'lowed dat he 'd be blame 
If he wus gwinter stan' sich biz — 

It wus n't far nor squar ; 
Dat he was jest as good as him. 

If he had n't been no whar. 

But w'en de niggers told ole Prod 

W'at Elder had ter say, 
He lef de crowd up at de house 

An' hurried right erway 
Down to de barn where Elder wus, 

An 'ter dat youngster sed : 
"Yer brudder is erlive at home, 

Aldo we thought him ded." 

An' den he went on wid er yarn 

'Bout havin' pleasure most 
Ober one old ram dat's f oun' 

Dan ninety-nine not lost. 
An' tried ter taffy up his son 

Wid chestnut tales like dis, 
Dat while he stayed at home and worked 

Dat eberyting wus his. 

^7 



But Elder wus as mad as sheol, 

An' tole his daddy plain 
He wus n't satisfied er bit ; 

Dat he troo sun and rain 
Had stayed at home and done de work 

De whole long summer troo, 
An' neber eben got er goat, 

Much less er barbicue. 

De moral now ter dis yer tale 

Ter me is bery plain ; 
Ole Prod ought not ter bin so glad 

Ter see dat boy ergain, 
Fer as he neber wus no good, 

But allers breedin' harm. 
He ought not ter bin erlowed 

Ter come back on dat farm. 



Zbc Stare ant) Bare^ 

The ''Stars and Bars" has fallen 
And will never float again, 

But bright on history's pages 
It will live without a stain. 

For, proudest recollections 

Of great battles fought and won, 

And glorious deeds of valor 
By Southern patriots done, 



*Written soon after the surrender of Lee. 

68 



Embalms in sacred mem'ry 

That bright banner loved and dear, 
To keep through coming ages 

As the one without a peer. 

'T was born of stern oppression 
And was cradled in the storm, 

When retributive justice 
Rose demanding a reform. 

And in the name of liberty 
It was christened in the blood 

Of Patriots and of Heroes, 
Flowing then in crimson flood. 

And thus endeared to freedom 

By love's ever sacred tie, 
Our hearts were rent with anguish 

When we saw it droop and die. 

We held it in affection. 

And rejoiced to see it wave, 

We loved the men who bore it. 
For they were true and brave. 

We loved its holy mission. 
Every hope that it inspired. 

And we honor every martyr 
Who beneath its folds expired. 

We reverence, too, its chieftains 

Every consecrated name, 
Who 'neath that star-wreath^ed banner 

Achieved their glorious fame. 

69 



But aided not by nations 

Who beheld it from afar, 
Alone it met the tempest 

On the fiery crest of war. 

No nation recognized it, 

Not an arm was stretched to save, 
But men will ne'er forget it — 

As the banner of the brave. 

But now, alas ! 't is fallen 

And will proudly float no more, 

Our soldiers' tents are folded. 
And the din of war is o'er. 

Our cannon throats are silent. 

Every sword is in its sheath. 
Our camps are all deserted 

Save the silent camps of death. 

No sentinel now on duty 

Doth sweet freedom's watch-word tell. 
For liberty was ended 

When that glorious banner fell. 



70 



«e Careful Mow l^ou tCreab 

In walking through earth's verdant fields, 

Be careful where you tread; 
Don't crush the little flowers 

While gazing overhead. 
The stars I know are brighter far 

Than flowers that deck the sod, 
But both the flowers and the stars 

Are handiworks of God. 

And in the fields of human life, 

Oft found in humble ways, 
The pure in heart, the mild and good 

Escape our upward gaze, 
And in our rush and wild pursuit 

Of best in social skies, 
We sometimes crush a noble heart 

That heaven itself would prize. 



flnfelice 

I sometimes wake in the night time, 

And visions come crowding my brain, 
Which burden my soul with sadness, 

And which I resist but in vain. 
The path of my life's long journey 

A trail through a desert appears, 
Where thorns, the stones and the thistles 

Are bathed in my blood and my tears. 



71 



All along are the wrecks and ruins 

Of my prospects gone to decay, 
Of idols I 've loved and cherished, 

All broken and left by the way. 
But then, through my tear-dimmed vision, 

That path trending upward I see. 
To a home of rest and pleasure. 

Where loved ones are waiting for me. 

So gathering my remnants of faith, 

And hugging them close to my breast. 
As beggars draw closer their rags 

When by cold and hunger oppressed, 
I look no longer behind me. 

But my gaze still upward I bend, 
Heedless of what I encounter, 

Resolved to push on to the end. 



^be IDale of OLo^abatcbie 

Oh, the vale of Losahatchie, 

How I long to be there now. 
To bathe my fevered temples 

And to cool my aching brow 
In the clear and limpid waters 

Of the old Coloma's spring. 
And to rest within the shadow 

While the birds above me sing. 



72 



I am tired with the tumult 

Of the city's noisy din; 
With the struggle for existence, 

And the babbling tongues of men, 
And I long for that old valley, 

With its peace and plenty blest, 
And to make my home once more 

In the old parental nest. 

No breaking banks could bring dismay 

In that old valley grand ; 
With plow I 'd write my honest checks 

And drafts on fertile land, 
While that great banker, nature's God, 

Whose wealth is seas and main, 
Would principal and interest pay 

Tenfold in golden grain. 

And when old Sol had ploughed his course 

Across the heavenly way. 
And old Coloma's mountain top 

Lit up with golden ray, 
How sweet would be my night's repose 

And undisturbed miy dream, 
Soothed there by notes of nightingale. 

And lulled by murmuring stream. 



73 



Xine0 for 3effer6on Davia'e 
Hnntvereati? 

I have read on history's pages, 
Penned by poets and by sages, 
Of the heroes of the ages, 

Names which all men revere; 
But I never yet have read. 
Of the living or the dead. 
Of whom it could be said 

He was Jeff Davis's peer. 

Go search you all the rolls of fame, 

Go seek you all to find a name 

So free from every blot of blame — 

But your search will be in vain. 
He was honest, brave and true. 
No dishonor ever knew ; 
Before the world's review 

He passed without a stain. 

Then let us all now while we may, 
On this our chieftain's natal day — 
Yes, we who with him wore the gray — 

Sing anthems to his praise. 
'T was for us he wore the chains. 
Uncomplaining bore his pains, 
And while life with us remains 

We '11 praise him in our lays. 

Long we held him in affection 
As a type of all perfection. 
And we trust at resurrection 

We '11 meet him on that shore — 
To rest in bliss eternal. 
In realms of light supernal 
Where bloody wars infernal 

Will be known never more. 
74 



Sermon bi? '\Ilncle fRoae 

No. I 

My belubbed cullud brudders, 

Havin' lef at home my specks, 
I'll hav' ter ax yer pardin' 

Fer not readin' ob my tex ; 
But yer'll fine de inspirasion 

Ob what I has ter say 
In de pistle ob de postle 

To de church in Africa. 

De language are explicit, 

An' dis is what it am : 
Er man shud git er hustle on 

An' be not like er clam. 
So please ter give attention, 

An' try ter keep erwake 
Whilse I de applicasion 

Will now attempt to make. 

Now de fust ting I must tell yer, 

An' I gits it frum my tex, 
'Er clam 's no good fer dis yer worl,' 

Nor fitten fer de nex : 
He 's er lazy, stupid creetur — 

Yes, dat 's jess what he am — 
An' er man shud git er hustle on. 

An' be not like er clam. 



75 



All yer jinin' ob societies, 

An' marchin' roun' wid flags, 
Ain't at all er gvvinter help yer 

Keep yer familys out er rags, 
Fer behine yer grips an signuls, 

Yer flip-flops and flim-flams, 
Dere 's some hustler after nickels 

In de pockets ob de clams. 

All dis talk erbout dem pawn shops, 

De new sub-treasury scheme, 
Is er snare an' er delusion 

An' an empty-headed dream, 
An' yer '11 fine when yer hab waited, 

Dat it 's but er trickster's sham; 
So yer wants ter git er hustle on. 

An' be not like er clam. 

When de wily politician 

Comes eroun' ter get yer vote, 
An' vites yer ter de barbicue 

To eat de roasted shote ; 
When he puts his arms eroun' yer 

An' begs yer take er dram, 
Yer had better git er hustle on. 

An' be not like er clam. 

Fer as sho as I 'se er preachin' 

When de 'lection day is pass, 
An' dat politician 's 'lected, 

An' yer craps are in de grass. 
He will scorn yer an' will spurn yer, 

Fer de fool he knows yer am. 
An' yer '11 wish yer 'd kept er hustlin' 

An' been not like a clam. 



1^ 



Er word now in conclusion, 

While we pass eroun' de hat, 
Yer wants ter git er hustle on 

When we shall cum ter dat. 
Let some one grine de organ 

An' start us up er psalm — 
Please, brudders, git er hustle on. 

And be not like er clam. 



f!D^ fiDotber'0 Meait 

'T is sweet to feel, what'er betide, 
When friends forsake and foes deride, 
That one warm heart beats for me still — 
One heart which only death can chill. 

When somber gloom and cares oppress, 
And bitter griefs my soul distress, 
'T is solace sweet to feel and know 
That faithful heart still shares my woe. 

It matters not what fate be mine. 
What star of destiny may shine, 
Give fate her mood to frown or smile. 
That heart from me naught can beguile. 

For when griefs bitter cup I 've quaflfed. 
And writhed beneath a sland'rous shaft. 
Or by ingratitude been stung. 
That heart to me hath fondly clung. 



77 



And when upon a bed of pain 
Consuming fevers burned my brain, 
And death came near — oh! hideous thing- 
That mother was my sheltering wing. 

And now whate'er be fate's decree 
Of good or bad in store for me, 
I reck not, but let come what will, 
Since that fond heart is constant still. 

And when I Ve done at last with earth, 
Where claimed by sorrow from my birth, 
I hope to see Heaven's portals part 
And rest once more on mother's heart. 



H IRebere IReverie 

I was a rebel and my heart 

Has never by so sHght a pause 
As one pulsation failed to beat 

With constancy to that great cause 
For which we of the Sunny South 

Intrepid stood 'mid battle flame. 
And for which cause we even yet 

Can speak without a blush of shame. 

And yet I know and I admit 

The fact that men who wore the blue 
Were just as honest and as brave 

As we who differed in our view 
With them on questions of the right; 

Nor will I even now gainsay 
That they less just in battle fought 

Than we who faced them in the fray. 

78 



They fought with patriotic love 

This Union grand to shield and save, 
And to uphold their country's flag — 

The flag which their forefathers gave ; 
Whilst we who wore the Southern gray 

Sought to maintain State sovereignty, 
And fought with all our might and main 

For home and white supremacy. 

That was Alpha and Omega, 

The sum total of the story ; 
Each side was right, and for their cause 

Won immortal fame and glory ; 
And when on Appomattox's field 

Great Lee and Grant stood hand in hand. 
Re-welded was the broken link 

Of this our Union great and grand. 

Nor will I now with needless words 

Revert to wounds that long have healed ; 
We staked our all and played our hand 

Upon the bloody battle-field. 
And tho' by fate doomed to defeat — 

Doomed to behold our banner's fall — 
Whate'er we lost this much we gained : 

A world's respect — that's w"orth it all. 

And after all who now can say 

That what is now is not the best. 
Since every line is blotted out 

'Twixt North and South, 'twixt East and West? 
One nation now, one common flag, 

One Union that embraces all. 
One sisterhood of sovereign States, 

One common fate whate'er befall. 



79 



And as we stand united now 

The sun shines not on fairer land, 
Nor land so blessed by nature's God, 

As this our country, great and grand. 
Then let Old Glory proudly wave, 

O'er North and South, o'er East and West ; 
It is the flag our fathers gave — 

The flag by God supremely blessed. 



Tho' thy bright smiling face but twice I have met, 

Its impressions on me I can never forget. 

It will cling to my mind wherever I be, 

And keep me, dear girl, ever thinking of thee. 

When flying by steam o'er the smooth iron rail. 
Or cleaving the wave 'neath the white spreading 

sail, 
Wherever I roam, on the land or the sea, 
I '11 be thinking, dear girl, be thinking of thee. 

When I view the great mountains eternal with 

snow, 
Or traverse dark caverns, earth's surface below, 
'Mid whatever scenes, wherever I flee, 
I '11 be thinking, dear girl, be thinking of thee. 

When lightly I trip in the merry quadrille, 
Or fly in the chase over valley and hill, 
'Mid every gay thought, in the height of my glee, 
I '11 be thinking, dear girl, be thinldng of thee. 

8o 



Should fortune e'er bless me and fill from her 

store 
My purse and my coffers with bright shining ore, 
As I count o'er the mass, each piece that I see, 
I '11 be thinking, dear girl, be thinking of thee. 

But should fate, in a mood, some spite to appease, 
Lay my form low with destroying disease, 
I '11 smile in defiance of her saddest decree, 
And be happy, dear girl, by thinking of thee. 

And when all my labors on earth shall be done. 
And I view the dark shadows of life's setting sun, 
Like an angel beside me, thy face I will see. 
And be thinking, dear girl, be thinking of thee. 



Hn leveninQ IReverie 

The sinking sun's last lingering light 
Has tinged the western sky with gold, 

And deepening shades of coming night 
Now gathering 'round me I behold. 

The sweet, refreshing evening breeze 
About my brow begins to play. 

And now I see through yonder trees 
Bright Jupiter's first twinkling ray. 

And while I sit in calm repose, 
Recalling memories of the past, 

Long by-gone days again disclose 

Sweet scenes of youth too bright to last. 

8i 



Sweet home, dear place of peace and love, 

Hallowed by a mother's tread, 
To thee in though I swiftly move, 

And greet the loved ones that are dead. 

Then off again in fancy's flight. 

To school — the place of youthful joy, 

Where merry faces greet my sight. 
Whom once I loved when yet a boy. 

Then on the tented field of Mars, 

Through battle smoke with rallying cry 

Beneath the glorious "Stars and Bars," 
I strike for Southern liberty. 

Next with the throttle in my hand, 

My throbbing locomotive flies 
From town to town — across the land, 

Like meteor athwart the skies. 

Then sitting down by Eula's side 
I clasp her little hand in mine ; 

And while the moments swiftly glide, 
I drink the nectar — love divine. 

Such are the scenes that swiftly pass 

Before my fancy in its range. 
Made dim by "memory's mellowing glass," 

And proving time's eternal change. 

But folded be my fancy's wings 

That bear me back to scenes of gladness. 

For now each scene my bosom wrings 
With keenest pangs of grief and sadness. 

82 



Indulging in a boyish freak — 

A wish in other lands to roam, 
Now makes my heart grow faint and weak, 

When e'er I breathe the name of home. 

The schoolmates of my boyhood's days, 
From all save memory have fled, 

While many of my friends in gray 

In camps of death their tents have spread. 

And she for whom I would have died 
False to her every vow has proved. 

And with the scorn of wounded pride 
I curse the day I ever loved. 

But there is one with noble heart 
Who faithfully to me has stood. 

And of my cares hath borne a part 

When spurned by those of nearer blood. 

Yes, noble girl — my Ossie dear. 

What though I search the world around, 

A heart more true, a face more fair 

Than thine, sweet girl, can ne'er be found. 

And while my heart beats warm and free, 
Whatever skies above me bend, 

Remember, dear, you have in me 
A cousin and a faithful friend. 



83 



H Mi0b* 

I long for the day and I pray for the hour 

When the cause of the right o'er the wrong 
shall prevail; 
When the South shall have gained the means and 
the power 
To make the foes of her liberty quail. 

Yes, I long to hear the cannon's loud peal, 
And to see once more our banners unfurled ; 

Whilst the rattle of guns and the clashing of steel 
Shall announce our cause still alive to the 
world. 

And I long for more leaders like Jackson and Lee, 
To lead us once more our foemen to meet; 

That we by the flash of our sabers may see 

How to follow the course of their broken 
retreat. 

And I long to see die the last vandal in blue, 
And to dance to the notes of his funeral knell ; 

And I long for a hole in the ground to look 
through. 
When he joins with all his companions in hell. 



•Written soon after the surrender, during the ever damnable 
so-called reconstruction period. 

84 



Zbc Ballot 

On which side are you, my brother? 

'Tis your ballot that will tell, 
And count for you in Heaven, 

Or against you deep in hell. 

Are you on the side of morals, 
Of temperance and the right? 

Or are you for the traffic 
Your fellow-men to blight ? 

Are you on the side of Jesus, 
With love for fellow-man, 

Or helping on his ruin 

By your aid to whiskey's clan? 

Are you with the weak and helpless, 
Whom sorrow doth oppress? 

Or do you, by your ballot. 
Still sanction their distress? 

Are you on the side of safety 
For the mother, child and wife? 

Or are you for the hellish drink 
That causes want and strife? 

Are you for the pure and moral. 
Who delight in doing good? 

Or for whiskey, rum and riot — 
For tears and sighs and blood? 

Are you for the church and Bible, 
And God's sweet, holy will ? 

Or are you for the wicked laws 
That license men to kill ? 



8S 



Can you vote the drunkard's ticket ? 

Then on bended knees, at night, 
Ask God to bless your ballot. 

And to keep your vote in sight. 

That in the awful judgment day, 
When called before His throne 

To receive His final sentence, 

"You may reap as you have sown." 

On which side are you, my brother? 

Will you pause awhile and think. 
Ere you slight your God and mercy 

For the devil's fatal drink ? 

Whatever be your answer, 

Your vote will surely tell, 
And will count for you in Heaven, 

Or 'gainst you deep in hell. 

Yes, God will read the ballots, 
Each fateful one that's cast ; 

And those that glorify Him not 
Your soul will help to blast. 

Hlabama* 

Alabama ! Alabama ! 

I am dreaming now of thee, 
And I see the trend of thousands 

Coming from beyond the sea. 
As they mount upon the billows, 

Steaming through the spray and foam, 
Wildly joyous at the prospect 

Of an Alabama home. 



* Written about the year 1874. 

86 



And I see within my dreaming 

Visions of the future cast 
That shall everwhelm with brilliance 

All the glories of the past ; 
For I see the spirit Progress 

Hovering o'er thee with her wand, 
At whose lightest touch responding, 

Wonders burst on every hand. 

She but touches : armies marching 

Come with axe, with pick and spade, 
Felling forests, bridging rivers. 

Delving out the level grade 
That shall be for steaming chariots 

A double iron-bounded course. 
Where the rushing wheels resounding 

Shake the mountains with their force. 

Again she strikes, and cities rising 

Like exhalations from the earth, 
Sets the mighty world in wonder 

At their unexpected birth; 
And I hear a hum of factories 

Blending in a ceaseless roar. 
Like the sound of ocean billows 

Breaking on a distant shore. 

And I see thy mighty mountains 

Torn asunder for their wealth, 
And I see thy fountains crowded 

By multitudes in search of health. 
And I see thy many rivers 

Opening out into the sea. 
Vessels crowded — golden freighted — 

Foreign tribute brought to thee. 

87 



She strikes again : thy vales I see 

Are waving with rich golden grain, 
While fleets within thy harbors wait 

To bear it o'er the watery main. 
And I see thy rocky hill-sides 

Purpling with the luscious vine, 
And I hear the voice of nations 

Praising Alabama wine. 

But still a brighter scene appears 

Breaking on my 'raptured eye; 
Temples grand and halls of learning 

Spread the land like stars on high, 
And from out those halls and temples 

I mark the hosts that come and go — 
Poets, statesmen and commanders 

Whose fame shall set the world aglow. 

And yet once more I see that wand 

Lifted high, the land to smite, 
While superstition's saints and devils 

Take their everlasting flight. 
The wand descends : a shock I feel, 

A mist comes over all I see. 
My sleep is broke and all my dream 

Has been of "what is yet to be." 



88 



(Beorgia 

Hail ! my native Georgia ! 

Fair are thy sunny skies, 
Thy mountains grand on every hand 

In splendor round me rise ; 
And dovi^n thy fertile valleys fair 

Bright sparkling streamlets flow, 
Whilst flowers rare perfume the air 

And set thy hills aglow. 

Great empire of the South, 

Of all thou art the best, 
For every toil upon thy soil 

Returns a bounty blest. 
Thy every mound and every hill 

A wealth of minerals hold, 
Which waits but skill, the pick and drill, 

Bright treasures to unfold. 

Thy rivers at their source 

Flow forth from beds of gold. 
And down the land through valleys grand 

They sweep in billows bold. 
And on their waves thy commerce great 

Finds exit to the sea. 
And nations all, both great and small. 

Pay tribute unto thee. 

Thy sons in war are true and brave. 

In peace thy virtues glow ; 
No traitor's name nor coward's shame 

Doth thy proud records show. 
But thy bright star on freedom's flag, 

As luminous as at birth, 
Will ever shine with light divine 

Whilst freedom dwells on earth. 

89 



Thou art a land of happy homes, 

Where peace and pleasure reigns ; 
Thy pretty girls, earth's treasure-pearls, 

Make famous thy domains. 
Thou art indeed supremely blest 

By nature's thousand charms; 
Great mines of wealth and founts of health 

Thou claspest in thy arms. 

And thou hast many mountains grand, 

And valleys fair to see, 
And heaven's sun ne'er shone upon 

A fairer land than thee ; 
And as thy wandering son returns, 

Resolved no more to roam, 
He lifts his song in measure strong 

To praise his native home. 



Speecb of TUncIe flDose 

My frien's an' cullud citizens, 

I'm er gwine ter make er speech. 
An' I want ter hab de 'tention 

Ob all in hearin' reach. 
My words are nuts ob wizdum, 

Shucked clean ob all de hulls, 
An' I hope dey '11 find a lodgment 

In de hollers ob yer skulls. 



90 



Dis am de white man's country, 

An' dat nigger am er fool 
Who thinks de white folks gwinter 

Low de cullud folks ter rule ; 
For de Massachusetts Yankee 

An' de Southern Democrat 
Am united same as brudders 

On de politix ob dat. 

You may shout yerself plum outer breff, 

And cut yer biggest figgers, 
A whoopin' fer dem candidates 

Who say dey love de niggers ; 
But you write it down wid charcoal 

An' jes' keep it fer a rule, 
You '11 never gain by politix 

Forty acres an' er mule. 

When Marse Lincum giv' us freedom, 

'T wan't no freedom fur ter steal, 
But to earn an hones' libbin' 

By a grubbin' in de fiel' ; 
An' when dat proclamation 

Old hones' Abarm wrote, 
He nebber thought a nigger 

Would get rich upon his vote. 

An' now I wants ter 'vise yer, 
While er talkin' on dat line, 

You better quit yo' politix 
An' de granger's party jine; 

Den you can eat yer chickens 
'Thout ketchin' dem at night, 

An' when yer see a p'liceman 
Won't be tremblin' at de sight. 



91 



Er word now in conclusion 

To you upper-crusty coons, 
Wid yo' fancy walkin' canes 

An' yer striped pantaloons : 
Yo' better git yerselves ter wuck, 

An' stop yer braggin' sass, 
'Fore some white man's cungeration 

Lays you out below de grass. 



^be "©eatb of IKIlilliam flDclRinle^ 

Dead, dead ! The spirit now has fled. 

Cold on its bier the pulseless clay 
Unconscious lies in dreamless rest, 

To wake no more till that great day 
When God shall bid all sleepers rise • 

To stand before His mighty throne. 
There face to face in judgment seat, 

To know their God as they are known. 

Till then, kind husband, rest in sleep, 

From thy fair brow death's chilling dew 
Is warmed away by farewell kiss 

Of constant wife so loving true. 
Closed be those eyes, forever closed, 

Whose light was wont but to portray 
The genial heart and friendly soul 

Of him who sleeps, alas, for aye. 



92 



But whilst untimely thou must sleep, 

Cast down by vile assassin's hand, 
Thy name around the world shall sweep — 

Thy praise be sung in every land, 
Thy glorious deeds examples be 

For all who yet on earth may dwell, 
Thy brilliant fame still brighter grow 

Till time with earth shall bid farewell. 

Yes, sleep on, veteran, take thy rest ; 
No war alarms thy sleep shall break. 

Thy faithful sword in honors decked, 
Thy glory and thy fame bespeak ; 

No spoils of war nor trophies rich 
From conquered foe was ever wrung 

More grand than that w^iich thou hast gained- 
Just praise from every Southern tongue. 

Sleep, glorious ruler, gently sleep ; 

Thy last great pageant ends in gloom, 
Half-masted droop a million flags. 

Whilst thou art borne to waiting tomb ; 
Throughout the world all nations mourn 

And yield their plenteous tears in vain, 
In grief sincere ; well may they weep, 

They ne'er will see thy like again. 

Till Judgment Day, great spirit, sleep 

In death's profound, unbroken rest; 
Thy native earth thy dust shall keep. 

Thy name survive, by country blest, 
Whilst onward rolling years go by 

Thy lustrous fame with time increase, 
The grandeur of thy work remain. 

Till time on earth itself shall cease. 



93 



Then mighty soul from grave arise, 

Come forth unawed to meet thy God ; 
Thy duty done, thy people's prayers 

Shall pave the way for thy reward — 
A place on high with ceaseless joys, 

Eternal with unchanging love — 
With all that 's pure and best of earth 

Be thine a home with God above. 



faitb 

Beyond the golden sunset 

Of life's departing day 
I see a star ascending 

With ever bright'ning ray ; 
Transcendent in its beauty, 

For faith has made it known. 
The beacon of my Maker 

To lead me to His throne. 

And, arching o'er the heavens, 

The bow of peace I see. 
And in it read the promise 

Which God hath made to me; 
For I have had the deluge 

Of sin's repentant tears, 
And I rest upon Moriah, 

Where the cross of Christ appears. 



94 



Don't IFt Sorter Xooft ^bat Mai? ? 

When you see a fancy feller 

Loafing 'round upon the streets, 
Allers smoking cigarettes, 

And hobnobbin' with dead-beats, 
While his mother does his washing. 

For which he doesn't pay. 
You would take him for a dude — 

Don't it sorter look that way? 

An' when he gets ter fishin' 

Or keeps a pinter dog 
He can tell a lie as easy 

As f allin' off a log ; 
Or if he doesn't fabricate. 

His imagination's play 
Er 'mounts ter 'bout the same — 

Don't it sorter look that way? 

An' when you go to meetin', 

An' set down in er pew, 
An' er gal with monster hat 

Shuts the preacher out from view. 
Don't you feel more like cussin' 

Than you do to kneel and pray? 
Now really, if you don't. 

Don't you sorter feel that way? 

An' when 'lection time's approachin' 

An' er feller comes er round 
Er bowin' an' er scrapin', 

An' er talkin' so profoun' 
Uv the "conflicts of opinion," 

An' the "crisis uv the day," 
He's er hankerin' fer office — 

Don't it sorter look that way? 
95 



An' I needn't ter remind you 

That the time has got here when 
The finances uv er man 

Hides er mighty heap uv sin ; 
For if he's got the ducats 

He can kill and he can slay, 
An' the jury will excuse him — 

Don't it sorter look that way? 

But should you hear a lawyer 

Runnin' other lawyers down, 
An' er wearing of er swagger. 

As if he run the town 
You may bet your bottom dollar 

He's a jackleg every way, 
Or er petifoggin' shyster — 

Don't it sorter look that way? 

An' when you hear a feller. 

As yer can most any time, 
Abusin' some po' doctor, 

An' accusin' him of crime. 
You may swear he owes fur physic 

An' don't intend ter pay, 
For it allers seems ter happen 

That it's sorter that er way. 

An' the man that reads er paper 

Fur er year er even more. 
An' writes ter stop its comin' 

'Thout settlin' up his score. 
He's er dead beat an' er scoundrel 

Who means ter beat his way, 
An' the devil's gwine ter get him — 

Don't it sorter look that way? 

96 



Roll on, roll on, eternal time ! 

All nature bows to thee; 
The mountains and the hills sublime. 

The rivers and the sea 
Shall mingle in one common wreck, 

And earth shall pass away 
Ere thou thy wasting course shall check, 

Or thy destructions stay. 

Coeval with the God-head born, 

Coeval with his reign, 
All human fame thou laugh' st to scorn. 

All monuments disdain ; 
Thou see'st nations rise and fall, 

And empires cease to be ; 
O'er burned out worlds thou spread'st a pall 

Of darkness under thee. 

Go, puerile man, nor deign to boast 

Thy strength or high estate ; 
Suns, moons, and stars in darkness lost 

By time's ordaining fate. 
Shall leave a black and empty void 

Where once they bright revolved ; 
And all that is shall be destroyed 

Ere time shall be dissolved. 



97 



Zhc Beatb of Seffereon ®avi6 



* 



The grand old hero sleeps at last, 

His life's long march is done ; 
The grim, night-watch his post has past 

And left him all alone. 
No war's wild notes shall wake him more, 

No tyrant's hand shall harm; 
In bivouac of death, he sleeps 

Secure from all alarm. 

No royal crown e'er pressed his brow, 

Tho' kingliest he of men, 
And, tho' in death he slumbers now, 

'Tis not for tongue or pen 
To add unto the chaplets green 

Which fame for him has wove ; 
A patriot true without a stain — 

A man that gods might love. 

His glorious sword, long laid aside, 

Is rusting in decay ; 
His noble voice in halls of state 

Is silenced now for aye ; 
But history's muse, with flaming pen. 

When writing Davis's name, 
Will leave on time's eternal scroll 

The brightest gem of fame. 



^Written on hearing of his demise. 

98 



Sball fl forget? 

Shall I forget sweet Dora's face ? 

A face so dear in days gone by, 
Shall I forget her winsome grace, 

The brilliance of her jet black eye? 
No, whilst my memory keeps its throne, 

I'll curse the day when first we met, 
And though my heart's as cold as stone, 

Her beauty I can ne'er forget. 

From land to land, from sea to sea 

I've fled without an aim in view. 
But like a dream, where e'er I flee. 

Her haunting face my steps pursue; 
Her words of scorn and cold disdain 

Within my heart are rankling yet. 
And though I struggle, 'tis in vain. 

Her lovely face I'll ne'er forget. 

But I will not attach a blame 

To one of such transcendent charms ; 
For heaven itself would blush with shame 

To see such beauty in my arms. 
'Twas fate that taught my youthful heart 

Its love upon such charms to set. 
But fate can never teach the art 

To change from love and then forget. 

Then marvel not that on my brow 

The clouds of grief and sorrow rest. 
For love can make the strongest bow 

When that love remains unblest ; 
Yes, darker than the shades of hell 

Is love that lingers in regret. 
No light can e'er its gloom dispel ; 

It never, never can forget. 

99 



Zhc Jflag an& Ibarp of Er(n 

Written for the occasion and read before the Robert Emmett Club, 
March 5, 1895, 

(Dedicated in reverence, and with affection, to the memory of 
Rev. Father A. J. Ryan, our South's beloved, patriotic poet priest, 
whose sweet and soul-inspiring songs shall ever shed a halo 01 
glory over that "Fallen Banner" of rny Southland, which, like^ the 
"Flag of Erin," represents those sublime principles ever enshrined 
in the hearts of all true lovers of "Truth, Justice and Liberty," 
and which, heaven-born, will never die — 

While suns and moons resplendent roll 

And God regards a patriot's soul.) 

Sons of old Erin, grand is the story 

Which history tells of your land and her glory ; 

But the bright star resplendent that beams on her 

crest 
Is the name of her Emmett — ^her brightest and 

best. 

A martyr of freedom, he sleeps with the dead, 
But his name, never dying, will eternally shed 
A lustre of glory on the land of his birth. 
And his fame be undimmed by any of earth. 

For his country he lived, for his country he died, 
And wherever on earth true patriots abide 
His praise will be sung and his glorious name 
Will shine like a star in the temple of fame. 

Yes, grand is the story of your land in the past, 
But brighter and grander 'twill be at the last, 
For a "Washington" yet for your country will rise 
And the sunburst of freedom shall brighten her 
skies. 

Yea, thousands of hearts are panting today 
For a leader to rise and lead them away 
Across the wide sea to their own native isle. 
There to sweep from her shores the foes who 
defile. 

100 



And the God of all justice on heaven's high throne 
A leader will send and a way will make known 
By which your "green flag" shall in triumph yet 

wave 
O'er your ocean-bound isle, the land of the brave. 

Then grasp Erin's flag, unfurl it once more ; 
Let it float to the breeze as it floated of yore 
In the land of your fathers, so blessed by your God 
Ere the foot of a tyrant had sullied its sod. 

Yea, bring it forth now ! Let it float for a day, 
In the sunlight of heaven its colors display, 
For down through the ages with centuries old 
It comes without stain on its green and its gold. 

Uprear it aloft ! yes, spread it on high. 

That the saints whom ye love, looking down from 

the sky 
To this bright land of freedom — the land of its 

friends — 
May send it their blessings on the heaven-lent 

winds. 

What tho' the old flag for ages exiled, 

A stranger 'mid strangers, by tyrants reviled. 

Is forced yet awhile an outcast to rove. 

By the grace of your God that flag shall yet prove 

"A pillar of fire" to lead you again 

To the home of your fathers, your rights to 

regain ; 
Then woe to the tyrants who stand in your way. 
For vengeance is God's and your wrongs He'll 

repay. 

lOI 



Then string ye the harp, attune it again, 

Let the rapturous notes of your country's refrain 

Break forth in wild numbers, your hearts to 

inspire, 
And with glory resounding, your souls set on fire. 

With the heart-burning wrath that patriots feel 
When stung by disdain and crushed by the heel 
Of despots who laugh while they rivet the chains 
And mock with their scorn the fallen one's pains. 

Yes, string the old harp, let its music be heard 
Till the soul of each Celt with emotion is stirred 
For freedom and justice, for God and the right — 
Till shoulder to shoulder they all shall unite 

Beneath the old banner so long an exile, 

And with eyes steady fixed on their evergreen isle, 

They shall march to its music and bear o'er the 

foam 
The flag of old Erin to its home, sweet home. 



Zhc jeveniUQ prater 

'Twas grandma taught our little girl, 

Our four-year darling May, 

Her "Now I lay me down to sleep," 

On bended knee to pray, 

"If I should die before I wake, 

I pray the Lord my soul to take ;" 

And then to close the evening prayer, 

Would have her add thereto : 

"God bless my Grandma Smith, 

Grandpa Smith and Uncle Joe, 

My Grandpa White and Grandma White, 

And (other names) good-night." 

102 



One evening at her grandma's knee, 

When tired out with play, 

The Httle darling bowed her head 

Her evening prayer to say, 

She finished out the little rhymes. 

And blessings then began, 

With "Damma Smith and Dampa White, 

And Dampa Smith" ; and here the light 

Shut out by drooping lids, 

She added in her innocence 

(Without thought of fun or jokes), 

"Dam — dam — and all my dam tinfolks." 



^be Stars an& Stripee '^ 

Behold the flag, above us raised, 

'Tis freedom's emblem true; 
The flag most grand that floats on land 

Or on the waters blue. 
Supremely blest by nature's God, 

Its stars with glory shine. 
And everywhere its folds appear 

There freedom has a shrine. 

See in its stripes the rainbow hues. 

See in its stars the light 

Which God has lent and gladly sent 

To make its pathway bright ; 
And see the heaven-kissing winds 

Its lovely form embrace, 
Whilst clouds in air, I may declare. 

Seem jealous of its grace. 



* Written in 1896 on the occasion of unfurling a flag at one of 
the city public schools. 

103 



No despot dares to touch its folds, 

No nation dare despise ; 
Its every star and every bar 

Ten million patriots prize, 
Long may it wave, long may it wave 

Above the land and sea, 
A beacon bright our hearts to light 

With love of liberty. 

Let tyrants stand and be dismayed 

Whene'er that flag they see — 
This Union grand was made to stand 

As long as time shall be ; 
And in this land of liberty, 

Made sacred by our dead, 
We've sworn to God their sacred sod 

No tyrant's foot shall tread. 

And while that banner proudly floats 

O'er freedom's wide domain. 
Let despot's hand or traitor band 

E'er dare that flag to stain. 
We'll show the nations of the world 

That wCj though late in strife, 
That flag will keep on land and deep. 

Or 'neath it give up life. 

Yes, yes ! that flag we'll ever keep, 

And proudly tell the story 
How it was born on freedom's morn 

To live in endless glory ; 
And tell of victories grandly won 

Both on the land and sea, 
When storms arose and foreign foes 

Opposed our liberty. 



104 



No other land 'neath heaven's dome 

Can match our banner here, 
Then give a cheer, long, loud and clear, 

For freedom's banner dear; 
Long may it wave, long may it wave, 

All praise to it be given. 
So bright and fair beyond compare. 

The grandest flag 'neath heaven. 



Sbame, ® (^^ Country?, Sbame I '^ 

Shame, O my country ! bow thy head. 

Behold what has been done — 
The blackest crime that ever stained 

A land beneath the sun. 
Yea, see with loathing and disgust. 

Then turn away thine eyes 
From act so foul e'en fiends of hell 

With loathing would despise. 

Pull down the flag your fathers reared 

And tear it into shreds ; 
Let craven Anglo-Saxons now 

Deign not to raise their heads. 
Call down the eagle from on high. 

With dunghills let him tread. 
Since blackamoors and dastard knaves 

Have shamed your honored dead. 



*These lines were written after reading a newspaper report to 
the effect that the North Carolina Legislature, which, at the time, 
having a Republican majority, refused to adjourn in respect to 
Washington and Lee's anniversary, but by resolution agreed to 
adjourn in respect to Fred Douglas, a negro, who had just died. 



Let day-god from his place on high 

Recede and hide his face, 
That darkness may come down and shield 

Our land from such disgrace. 
Pluck every star from heaven's dome, 

Let midnight darkness reign. 
Or Phoenix like, let Justice rise, 

And wipe away the stain. 

Where are the men of Mecklenburg, 

Whose patriotic sires 
Were first on North Carolina's heights ' 

To kindle freedom's fires? 
How have they fallen now so low, 

What has their pride undone. 
That they permit insult so base 

To Lee and Washington ? 

And where, oh, tell me where the sons 

Of that brave Spartan band 
Who fought through hells of battle flame. 

To shield their native land? 
Where are Virginia's sons, oh, where ? 

I hear the heaven's cry. 
That they permit so foul a shame, 

And strike not, though they die. 

And you, ye abolition horde, 

See of your work the trend — 
Black ingrates casting scorn upon 

The names you should defend. 
You now behold the writing plain. 

Of hand "upon the wall" ; 
Dishonored, bend and take the cup, 

Yea, drink the bitter gall. 

106 



Your true Caucasian blood deny, 

Your birth-right now disown ; 
Bow down to serpents and to toads, 

Too base to worship stone. 
Become as slimy, crawling worms, 

And grovel in the sod ; 
Too vile and loathsome for a name, 

Ye damned of man and God. 



COUlb H fOVQCtl 

Could I forget, could I forget 

One fair false face that haunts me still, 
My last few days of waning life 

Might find some joy my heart to thrill; 
And fondly dreaming, as of yore. 

On scenes of bliss by love made blest, 
I'd calmly drift along life's shore 

Till death's oblivion gave me rest. 

But, ah, poor me ! while life shall last. 

While thought and memory keep their throne, 
No fond, sweet dream, no wistful hope 

Within my breast shall e'er be known ; 
For disappointment and despair, 

That came to me long years ago. 
Have stamped an impress on my heart, 

And filled my soul with bitter woe. 

107 



And now to me it matters not 

What course on earth my steps pursue ; 
No friends I seek, no foes I shun, 

But knowing death is sure and true, 
I bear my lot as I may best. 

And, longing, wait for that sweet day 
When life shall flutter from my breast. 

And death shall steal my soul away. 



1Ri3pab 

And Rizpah, the daughter of Aiah, took sackcloth and spread 
it for her upon the rock, from the beginning of the harvest until 
water dropped upon them out of heaven, and suffered neither the 
birds of the air to rest on them by day, nor the beasts of the field 
by night. — ii Samuel, chapter xxi, verse lo. 

On the hills of Gideon, 

Near Jordan's verdant plain. 
By the hand of God's avengers 

Were the sons of Rizpah slain ; 
Their forms, denied sepulture. 

Were cast upon the rock 
And left for wild hyenas 

And the ravenous vulture flock. 

But a mother's constant love 

Ends not with loved one's breath ; 
Her constancy and her devotion 

Still increaseth after death. 
And Rizpah, with fidelity, 

On the rock her sackcloth spread. 
And stood alone in mourning 

To guard her cherished dead. 

io8 



Throughout the entire season, 

From the harvest till the rain, 
Her sleepless eyes unceasing 

Kept vigil o'er the slain. 
The eagle screamed above her, 

Wild hyenas came to prowl, 
And her heart was often startled 

By the roaming lion's growl. 

But with courage never faltering 

She stood from day to day, 
A true, unselfish sentinel 

Against the beasts of prey. 
The sunbeams burned upon her, 

She bore the night wind's chill ; 
But through day-time and the darkness 

She was ever faithful still. 

The leopard and the tiger, 

When wandering by the spot. 
Beheld her steadfast standing 

And dared to touch her not. 
The hungry wolves came round her, 

And the lynx with burning eye, 
But daunted by her courage, 

Were made to quail and fly. 

And all alone upon the rock. 

Unrelieved by any friend. 
Her long, dark tresses waving 

And disheveled by the wind. 
She kept her faithful vigils 

Till her weeping eyes were red. 
Her sole and only solace — 

A communion with the dead. 

« 

109 



And all the annals of the world, 

Since the morning dawn of time, 
Affords us no example 

More heroic and sublime 
Than of this poor, mourning mother, 

Keeping vigils night and day. 
To protect her cherished loved ones 

From the birds and beasts of prey. 



'Uncle flDo0e on IFn&cpenbence ®ai? 

My friens' an' cuUud citizens, 

Wese ersembled here dis morn 
To celebrate de 'casion 

Wen liberty wus born ; 
Wen de young American eagle 

Fust busted fum his shell, 
An' give er whoop fer liberty — 

Er reg'lar rebel yell. 

Dat wus de grandes' 'casion 

Dat eber bless'd de earth, 
An' nations wus astounded 

At de glory ob his birth. 
For neber in de history 

Ob all de ages past 
Wus eber such er nation 

Fum de molds of wisdom cast. 



no 



An' I tell yer, fellow citizens, 

It makes my bosom swell 
Wid proudness w'en I reads erbout 

Or hear dem speakers tell 
Ob how dat unfledged eagle 

Girded on de belt ob right 
An' challenged Englan's lion 

Ter come out and hab er fight. 

So strong had grown dat bloody beast, 

So puff'd up an' so gran', 
He thought hisse'f de champion 

Ob all de seas an' Ian'. 
Wid scorn he heard an' looked upon 

Dat Yankee bird so small, 
An' swore dat he wud chaw him up — 

Meat, fedders, bones an' all. 

But dat new-hatched-out Yankee bird. 

Do seeming small an' weak, 
Wus hatched wid claws as sharp as steel 

An' wid er hole-fas' beak ; 
His eyes wus full ob lightnin' fire, 

His gizzard full ob grit. 
An' like young David wid de sling. 

He knowed jess what ter hit. 

An' too, our Uncle Sam was dere 

Ter back dat eagle game, 
Fer well he knew he cum fum stock 

Dat tyrants cud not tame ; 
An' quickly kiverin' ebry bet 

Dat ole John Bull put down, 
He cried w'en dat ole bluff refused 

Ter bet his throne an' crown. 



Ill 



But not because he had er use 

Fer eny such ole plunder, 
He only wished to win de stuff, 

Den kick it in ter thunder, 
Dat ebry Englishman might see 

He did not care er snap 
Fer dere old royal, high-back chair, 

Nor ole carbuncl'd cap. 

At las' in Massachusetts, 

Dey begun de scrappin' match, 
While Injuns stood eround an' yell'd 

Ter see 'em bite an' scratch. 
Roun' after roun' dey fit an' clawed, 

Returnin' lick for lick, 
An' Englan's lion soon found out 

Dat bird was hard ter pick. 

Dey fit all 'roun' ole Lexington, 

An' 'roun' Dorchester's hight. 
An' plum ercross ole Bunker's hill, 

Still strugglin' in dere might ; 
Till mad wid pain dat Hon's roar 

Wus echo'd fur an' wide, 
Fer ebry time he cum in reach 

Dat eagle tore his hide. 

He pull'd his mane, he twis' his tail. 

He fill'd his eyes wid san'. 
Till dat ole lion got so weak 

Dat he could hardly stand ; 
But still de eagle kept his lick 

Nor seemed de least dismayed, 
Fer he was bound dat beast ter lick 

An' lay him in de shade. 



112 



But by an' by de sponge went up, 

Dat lion tuck'd his tail, 
An' cross'd de broad Atlantic sea 

His losses ter bewail. 
De eagle bold den spread his wing 

An' soar'd erway on high 
Ter roost ermid de circlin' stars 

An' guard us wid his eye. 

An' since de early dawn ob time, 

Wen de sky its robes unfurl'd, 
An' de great quire of Heavenly stars 

Sung er welcome ter de world ; 
Since de day-god in his splendor 

Fust look'd down fum on high, 
Dere has neber been er 'casion 

Like dat Fourth day of July. 

Er word now in conclusion, 

Ter yer good white folks out dere- 
Ef any ob yer has a dime 

Dat yer can kindly spare, 
Er ef yer chance ter hab at home 

Sum good ole cast off clo'es, 
Please 'member yer ole cullud fren, 

Yer hones' Uncle Mose. 



Some 2)ai2 

Some day, I know, but know not when, 
My pulsing heart will cease to beat, 

My weary hands will cease their toil ; 
The quick step of my hurrying feet 

Will no more echo in my home, 

Nor loved ones list to hear me come. 

113 



Some day, I know, but know not when, 
The sombre hearse will reach my door, 

And friends with muffled tread will come, 
Whom I, alas ! shall see no more, 
And bear me off to sodden tomb, 

And leave me there in silent g^loom. 



fe' 



Some day my loved ones, left behind. 
Will come to where in death I sleep. 

And, placing flowers upon my grave. 
Will linger there awhile to weep — 

And breathe for me a silent prayer. 

But I shall never know them there. 

Some day, I know, oh ! sad the thoug^ht ! 

My friends and loved ones, too, will be 
All cold and pulseless in their tombs, 

And none on earth remembering me 
Will ever speak or hear my name, 
For I must die unknown to fame. 

Some day the stones that mark my grave. 
That tell my date of death and birth 

Will, too, have crumbled into dust, 
And not a vestige here on earth 

Will then be left to tell the tale 

That e'er I crossed life's troubled vale. 

But far beyond each trembling star. 
Now twinkling in the heavenly dome. 

My soul, released from earthly woes, 
Shall mount to my eternal home, 

Where I shall join the Heavenly choir. 

And sing the praise of my Messiah. 



114 



©ocbellulab 

O come, my fawn-eyed maiden, 

Come fly away with me; 
Down by the laughing waters 

I've built my own tepee. 
And there, sweet Oochellulah, 

You'll be my greatest pride ; 
No warrior, chief, or hunter 

Will have so fair a bride. 



CHORUS 

Then come, my love, my love so true, 

I've brought for you my light canoe ; 
Do come with me and be my bride — 

A-down the silvery stream we'll glide. 
O come, the moon is shining bright. 

In my canoe so swift and light 
I'll bear you to my own tepee. 

And all my love I'll give to thee. 

O come, my Oochellulah, 

My fleet-foot wild gazelle. 
And I will love you ever. 

Far more than words can tell. 
To me your face is fairer 

Than is the moon on high. 
And O ! if you will come with me 

I'll love you till I die. 

CHORUS 



IIS 



Couraee anb Hmbition 

Ef I wus but er tadpole — 
Er tadpole weak and frail — 

I wud strive ter be a frog, 
Do I neber shed my tail. 

An' befo' I'd be a clam, 
Allers shet up outer sight, 

I wud bust my shell ersunder, 
Do I perish in de light. 

Yes, I rudder be a flyin' squerrel, 
To fly er while and fall, 

Dan be er lazy tarrepin 

An' do nothing else but crawl. 

An' ef I wusn't bigger 

Dan er little yaller ant 
I would exercise er courage 

Equel tu de elephant; 

Fer I hold dat it is noble, 
An' ercordin' ter God's plan, 

Dat man in ebery station 
Shud prove hissef er man. 

Dat only true nobility 

Is by hones' labor wrought, 

An' er crown dat's wuf de wearin' 
Is by mortal neber bought. 

An' I can't but hate er croaker, 
Wid his weak an' watery eyes 

Allers turned towards de groun', 
Neber raised toward de skies; 

ii6 



Who goes erbout complainin' 
An' bemoanin' ob his fate, 

Because he is er ninny 
Instid ob sumpin' great ; 

Who neber makes an effort 

Ter reach er noble hight, 
But hides his ebery talent 

In his bosom outer sight, 

An' bows in weak submission. 
Like er cringin' yaller houn', 

An' licks de hand uplifted 
Ter strike him ter de groun'. 

But I glory in de courage 

My convictions to assert. 
An' I'll strive to be er man, 

Do I'se but made of dirt. 

Fer I know de soul widin me 

Is er libin' part ob God, 
An' will lib in spheres eternal 

When my form has turned to sod. 

An' as I lub ter honor 

Dat God who, in His plan. 

Made me in His image, 
I will strive to be er man. 



117 



l?ou Hre fID? Sweetbcart l^et 

Full many, many years have past, 

But, oh, how short they've been. 
Since, darling, you were but a girl, 

And I but just nineteen. 
We loved each other, darling, then. 

Yea, from the day we met. 
And now, though we are growing old, 

You are my sweetheart yet. 

Your little hands you placed in mine. 

While nestling at my side. 
And promised me that you would be 

My own sweet little bride. 
Time swiftly fled, and we were wed. 

The day I'll ne'er forget. 
For now, though we are growing old, 

You are my sweetheart yet. 

With faithful hands you've done your part 

To make my burden light, 
Have closer clung when cares oppressed 

And sorrows came to blight ; 
So now, when silvery threads I see 

Amid your curls of jet. 
To me your charms they but enhance. 

You are my sweetheart yet. 

Though faded are the roses now 

From your fair damask cheek, 
Where little dimples used to romp 

And play at hide and seek; 
Though time has dimmed your lovelit eye. 

Thank God, this is my tret. 
Let come what will, you love me still. 

You are my sweetheart yet. 
ii8 



Cupib'0 auction 

Behold upon the market stand 

A lovely gem of radiance rare, 
With which no pearl of eastern land 

In point of beauty can compare ; 
'Tis brighter than a diamond far, 
More lovely than the fairest star, 
More precious than Arabian gold. 
Its worth in words can ne'er be told. 

It hath no duplicate on earth. 

And Heaven claims no fairer gem 
Of perfect cast and peerless worth 

Than this endearing diadem ; 
But here it is, and to be sold. 
For highest price, to young or old, 
'Tis true no small bid will suffice ; 
Then let us hear the highest price. 

Deceitful Flattery, first to speak. 

Now makes an offering fraught with pride, 
He compliments the glowing cheek, 

With raven curls on either side ; 
Then adds unto with tenderness 
A praise of form and style of dress. 
And seeks by bid of coxcomb's art 
To gain the prize unto his heart. 

Then Beauty, clothed with faultless style, 
Made offering of his handsome face. 

O'er which there played a sunny smile. 
And bowed with an artistic grace. 

Which seemed to sav in language plain. 

He had no doubt the prize he'd gain ; 

He doubtless thought his face and form 

Would take the precious gem by storm. 

119 



Next pompous Wealth's defiant voice 

Proclaimed a bid of indolence, 
And added gifts of Mammon's choice 

In part, by way of recompense. 
And with base heart and haughty pride 
Thought other bids to set aside ; 
For gold hath such a charming touch, 
Naught else, he thought, avails so much. 

Then Intellect, with modest grace. 

Announced his bid — a wealth of mind. 

And by the beam upon his face. 

He deemed the prize for him destined ; 

For who, with privilege to choose, 

Could such a bid as his refuse; 

His wit and wisdom, so well known. 

He thought would make the gem his own. 

But Love, all friendless and alone, 
At once upon the scene appears, 
And prays to make his offering known ; 

A bid it is of sighs and tears — 
A yearning of a constant heart. 
Whose constancy would ne'er depart, 
A manly soul, unknown to fear, 
A faithful arm to do and dare. 

A mind in which he daily nurtures 
Sweet visions of the gem herself. 

Feet which know but paths of virtue. 
Hands clean of all dishonest pelf — 

All these the bid which Love would give ; 

Now tell me, shall his bidding thrive ? 

Oh, if! oh, if! you answer yes. 

Long will I Cupid's auction bless. 

120 



trafte Back tbe Xie 

Lines suggested on reading a speech by General P — r, Comman- 
der-in-Chief of the Grand Army of the Republic, in which he 
denounced the Southern Flag as an emblem of treason. 

Take back the lie, base, craven wretch, 

Which thy vile lips have dared to speak — 
Such calumny from thy vile tongue 

But proves that thou art base as weak ; 
From coward lips such venom vile 

Can only serve to wake disgust 
In hearts of all true, noble men. 

Who loathe such vipers of the dust. 

Then take it back, thou snarling cur, 

Insult not with thy lying breath 
That ensign of a noble host 

Now tenting in their camps of death ; 
Nor shouldst thou dare, with lying tongue, 

To slander men whose dauntless might 
Made for that flag a name and place — 

The grandest on fame's utmost height. 

Thine is the craven coward's course, 

Hyena-like that dares to tread, 
And with thy foul polluting breath 

Profanes the turf that hides our dead ; 
No faintest ray, nor spark of truth 

Doth to thy lying tongue give pause; 
Else hadst thou not, poor, slimy worm. 

Have dared to slander such a cause. 



121 



How worse than fool, thou poltroon, knave, 

To basely lie without a reason — 
To let thy lying words imply 

That our just cause was one of treason. 
The banner that thou darest malign 

Shall live through never-ending glory, 
Whilst all such hissing toads as thou 

Shall be unknown in song or story. 

What valiant hero of the blue. 

Who faced our warriors in the fray. 
But knows that only patriots true 

E'er fought so valiantly as they ; 
And knows, too, that no traitor band 

In treason's cause was ever fired 
To such sublimely daring deeds 

As our Confederate hosts inspired. 

Then hush, yea, hush thy putrid mouth, 

Go kill thyself, thy meed to gain ; 
Less sinned had Ananias, when 

God numbered him among the slain ; 
Nor such a crime since Judas's sin 

Hath ever damned with such just reason. 
As that thou laidst upon thy soul 

In that foul, lying charge of Treason. 



122 



flDan Mas flDabe for Moe 

Go search the world from pole to pole, 

And view mankind in every state; 
You'll never find a living soul — 

What'er his land, what'er his fate — 
Who has not felt within his breast 

The tides of sorrow ebb and flow. 
And has not felt, when care oppress'd, 

That mortal man was made for woe. 

The loving swain in lonely bower 

In fondness burns with passion's flame ; 
Each budding bloom and blushing flower 

Reminds him of his cherished dame. 
But, when a few short years have fled 

His youthful cheek has lost its glow, 
In tears of disappointment shed. 

He learns that man was made for woe. 

And he, the pampered man of pride. 

With hoarded wealth of precious ore, 
With teeming acres, broad and wide. 

Who daily scorns the weak and poor. 
Will, when his frame with age is bent, 

And every step's a painful throe. 
In his cold heart his pride repent. 

And murmur, "man was made for woe." 

The royal king and lord of state. 

Flushed with men's homage and with fame. 
May for awhile forget that fate 

Has made all human kind the same; 
But ere for them life's sun shall sink, 

A Marah's draught for them must flow. 
And, as they quafif the bitter drink. 

Must learn that man was made for woe. 
123 



Vain is the Bacchanalian cup, 

And vain is worldly wealth and fame ; 
The cup of sorrow all must sup, 

In differing phase, but all the same. 
For some must burn 'neath tropic sun, 

Some perish in the arctic snow, 
And some have treasures, some have none, 

But all must have some bitter woe. 

Such is the destiny of man, 

And it is just as we shall find, 
A part of the Creator's plan 

To teach us to be good and kind. 
To succor those who need our care. 

And to withhold each cruel blow ; 
For as we share a brother's care 

So shall we lessen our woe. 



Sermon b? IDlncle flDo0e 

No. 2. 

My belubbed cullud brudders, 

I'se gwine ter preach ter day. 
An' I hopes ter hab attention 

Ter what I'se gwine ter say. 
I know dere's room for 'provement 

In ebery sinner's heart. 
An' my reason fur so thinkin' 

I will now to you impart. 

124 



First, de selfishness ob nater 

Keeps de heart from gittin' clean ; 

It blinds de eyes of conscience, 
An' makes us over-mean; 

It puts er man ter thinkin' 

Dat he's better dan de best. 

An' like a tyrant robber, 

Steals de goodness from his breast. 

An' den dere is er kind er pride 

Dat steals into de brain 
An' robs er man ob reason. 

An' makes him weak an' vain ; 
An' when er man has got it, 

He is saddled mity well 
Fur de debil den ter mount him 

An' ter ride him down ter hell. 

Den dere's anudder passion, 

An' de Scripter calls it lust, 
An' if any ob you's got it 

You is hardly fit ter trust. 
Tis de pizen ob de sarpent, 

So pollutin' ter de soul, 
Dat de meanness ob its venom 

De debil would extol. 

An' den de sin ob appetite, 

Since ob dat I cum ter think, 
It's de debil's own invention 

When it leads er man ter drink ; 
It destroys all his conscience, 

Puts er blind upon his eyes. 
An' empties him ob character, 

An' fills him up wid lies. 

125 



A word now in conclusion 

Ob what I'se got ter say, 
A preacher cannot Hb on wind, 

He orter hab his pay. 
So while you hunt yer nickels 

An' we pass eround de hat, 
Please see dey isn't counterfeits, 

Be sho you look ter dat. 



JCbe IRationale of Sin 

(A reply to Rev. F. J. E.'s "First Cause of Woe.") 

How long shall the fables 

Of mythology last, 
Defaming Jehovah 

And his glories overcast? 
O, dark superstition! 

Thou shadow of night, 
How long wilt thou linger, 

Man's reason to blight? 
How long shall the falsehood 

That a snake of the sod 
By men be acknowledged 

As more subtle than God ? 
How long shall the darkness 

Of ignorance prevail 
And the foul tongue of slander 

God's wisdom assail? 



126 



Did the great living God, 

Whose hands did create 
This world we inhabit, 

And ten thousand more great, 
Whose will is but nature, 

Supreme of all law, 
And whose mind from the first 

All the future foresaw,. 
Make man pure and holy — 

From all sin pure and bright — 
And ordain that no sin 

Should his prospects e'er blight ; 
Then make a vile serpent 

And into him instill 
The vile power to break 

And defy his own will ? 

Oh, believe it not so — 

'Tis false and untrue — 
For God, the all-wise. 

Would not such folly do. 
Yea, God is all wisdom. 

And when he made man 
He made him, no doubt, 

On a rational plan. 
He endowed him with sense. 

With conscience and might. 
And made him free agent. 

To do wrong or do right ; 
For without the extremes 

Of evil and good, 
How could he serve God 

As really he should ? 

127 



Had there never been sin 

From which to abstain, 
All conscience and reason 

Were but attributes vain ; 
And my conscience and reason, 

Inherit from birth, 
I would not surrender 

For all fables on earth. 
And I'll tell you just here, 

As I have told you before, 
To God, in our wisdom, 

We should bow and adore. 
Then never, oh never, 

Defame thy great God 
By making him less 

Than a worm of the sod. 

To thee He gave conscience, 

A heart and a brain, 
And thou shouldst not bury 

Thy talents in vain. 
Look around, look aloft, 

Let your reason be free; 
Behold his great works 

On the land and the sea ; 
See mountains and rivers. 

Volcanoes and seas. 
Great oceans and lakes 

And forests of trees ; 
Then list to the thunder 

And the Hghtning's wild crash ; 
Hear the roar from the shore 

Where the tempest waves dash ; 

128 



Then turn thy gaze upward 

To the great arching sky 
And view thousands of worlds 

That bedazzle the eye — 
Each rolling in splendor 

Through infinite space, 
Controlled in their movements 

Or held in their place 
By the hands of Jehovah, 

Whose will they obey, 
And whose power and greatness, 

Can never decay. 
Then reflect if you will, 

And believe, if you can. 
That this great supreme God 

Ever formed him a plan 
And had not the will 

And the power to make 
That plan all secure 

From the lies of the snake. 



Talk not to me of policy, 

Of what I should or shouldn't do, 
For, steadfast to my conscience, 

I my course will still pursue. 
Let judgment shape my actions 

And my conscience be my guide, 
For I'd rather face a frowning world 

Than yield my manly pride. 



129 



My religion and my politics 

May I never seek to hide ; 
Let me steer with honest purpose 

Though I stem against the tide. 
And fettered not by policy, 

By precept nor advice, 
I'll bravely meet my destiny, 

Though I plunge a precipice. 

No, I vi^ill not be a puppet 

To any servile course. 
Though bribed by wealth and laurels 

And urged by tyrant force. 
But my deep and clear convictions 

Shall ever serve to sway. 
And, with conscience for my shield. 

Only God will I obey. 

Then away with all your policy, 

'Tis dissembling and deceit — 
A smiling lie upon the lip, 

A vain, pretending cheat. 
'Tis born of fraud and cowardice. 

No truth is in its name. 
And I'd rather lose this heart of mine 

Than to sear it with its shame. 

Yes, I loathe and scorn the hypocrite. 

Whose life's a living lie ; 
Who smooths his actions and his speech 

With the oil of policy, 
Who stoops to public favor 

At every beck and nod. 
And brings disgrace upon the form 

Made in image of my God. 

130 



Sbam0 ant) Sbacfte 

Mankind is not just what it seems, 
This world is half made up of shams, 

Some men as silent sages pose 
Who are at best but stupid clams. 

Some babbling tongues are never still, 
Misquoting thoughts of wiser men, 

And in their self-esteem suppose 

That they are what they've never been. 

Some noble hearts as ever beat 

Pulsate in breasts of rugged mold, 

Whilst broadcloth often wraps the knave 
Whose sins and crimes are never told. 

Some glorious poets live and die, 
And ne'er to wealth and fame are known, 

Whilst fools are flattered to the sky 
For genius that is not their own. 

Yes, more than half mankind are fools, 
Hence knaves and frauds find easy sailing ; 

To hug a sham and be humbugged 
Is with the mass a common failing. 

I've known a rum-besotted quack 
High in the healing arts to pass, 

Whose intellect was scarce above 
The instincts of a stupid ass. 

And oft a tailless ape we see 

Whose only brain is brazen cheek. 

High-seated on judicial bench 

To judge the fools who justice seek. 



131 



Then sometimes, too, in sacred desk 
A wolf we find in sheep's attire, 

Too cowardly to preach the truth, 
But preaching hell without a fire. 

And so it goes throughout the world, 

Hypocrisy is ruling still ; 
A man is boosted going up, 

And kicked when coming down the hill. 

Angelic woman, sweet and pure. 
When wedded to a worthless clown, 

By gravity of social laws 

Is to his level anchored down. 

But sometimes wilful, wicked wives 

Make noblest husbands hump and hustle, 

And he's a fool who thinks to find 
An angel wrapped with every bustle. 



Coosa IRiver 

A REVERIE 

Roll on, O gentle Coosa, 

Thou art dearer far to me 
Than all the other waters 

That flow into the sea. 
From thy early fountain source, 

'Mid the Georgia mountains grand, 
Down through old Alabama 

To the ocean's pearly strand. 
Thou art peerless in thy beauty, 

Thou art ever fair and bright, 
And everywhere I view thee 

There is gladness in the sight. 
132 



What memories, sweet and tender, 

Of my whilom happy days 
Now fill my heart with rapture 

When'er on thee I gaze. 
Those happy days of boyhood, 

That can bless me never more, 
Which spent with boon companions 

In sporting on thy shore ; 
And, oh, what royal pleasure 

'Twas to plunge into thy tide 
And, like the wild aquatic birds. 

On the placid bosom glide. 

Ah, well do I remember 

One blissful summer night, 
When moon and stars of heaven 

Made thy crystal waters bright, 
Of floating down thy current. 

Borne onward by thy tide, 
In sweetest little shallop, 

With fair Inez by my side; 
When I told her of my love. 

As I clasped her to my breast, 
And, in answer to my wooing. 

Heard her love for me confest. 

Then again upon thy borders 

On a lovely day in May, 
With flowers blooming 'round us 

And the birds all singing gay. 
How I led oft' in the dance, 

With a merry, happy train, 
Whirling in a giddy waltz 

With blithsome Kitty Dane, 



133 



The fairest little fairy, 
To my bosom firmly prest, 

And felt her heart responding 
To the throbbing in my breast. 

Then 'neath the beech and maples 

That shade thy grassy shore, 
Near the village of Coloma, 

In the halcyon days of yore, 
Where I was wont to wonder 

To view thy lovely sheen, 
Hand in hand with pretty Lizzie, 

The little village queen, 
And with her there to angle, 

With hooks oft baited not, 
All forgetful of the fishing. 

So contented with our lot. 



Then drifting, gently drifting, 

Adown thy placid stream, 
Borne onward to Aurora 

In my retrospective dream, 
I meet once more the loved ones. 

Both friends and kindred dear, 
And view once more the prospect 

That was wont my heart to cheer, 
And see once more around me 

Those winsome girls and boys 
Who made that humble village 

The sweet Eden of my joys. 



134 



But roll on, noble river. 

My retrospect is vain, 
Whilst thou shalt flow forever, 

I shall never feel again 
The rapture and the ecstasy, 

And charms without alloy, 
That blest me in those sunny days 

When I was yet a boy. 
Sporting on thy bosom. 

And romping on thy shore. 
With precious friends and loved ones. 

In those happy days of yore. 



H Sprins Cant^Ob 

I do not claim to be a saint. 

Filled with amazing grace. 
Nor boast of sanctifying love 

For all the human race. 
But like most other mortals be 

That's born for wearing pants, 
I am full to overflowing 

With a great many can'ts. 

I can't help feeling when I sit 

In the temple of the Lord 
And listen to a preacher's tongue, 

Whose every studied word 
Is meant to gain a compliment 

From some dudine in her pew. 
That he's a sort er hypocrite ; 

I can't, oh, can you? 



135 



And when I pay my dollar cash 

For a seat in the parquet, 
And go with great anxiety 

To hear and see the play, 
And have to sit behind a hat 

That hides the stage from view, 
I can't help feeling cross as sin ; 

I can't, oh, can you? 

And when I hear a fellow pray, 

"Lord let Thy kingdom come," 
And see him straightway cast his vote 

For the licensed sale of rum, 
I guess he means just what he prays 

And votes to prove it true. 
But somehow I can't see the point; 

I can't, oh, can you? 

And when I'm told the human race 

Is all from Adam's seed, 
That kinkey-headed coons and I 

Are from one common breed, 
I think that apes and darn baboons 

Must be my brothers, too ; 
But then I can't beHeve the tale ; 

I can't, oh, can you? 

'Tis said that wicked Birmingham 

Is not a friend to grace; 
That every dweller in its bounds 

Is heading for that place 
Where water-works are never known 

And ice supplies are scant ; 
But I don't think it's wholly true, 

I can't, oh, I can't. 

136 



I'm also told that demagogues 

Have caught the hayseed vote ; 
Are piloting and steering, too, 

The new Alliance boat ; 
That they are going to take the earth 

And everything in view, 
But I don't hardly think they will ; 

I can't, oh, can you? 



Cleopatra 

AN IMITATION 

Like the glorious lotus blossoms, 

Drifting on the placid Nile, 
My spirit soon on Charon's stream 

Shall swiftly glide from portals vile. 
Iris ! Charmian i heed me quickly ; 

Twine my tresses o'er my brow, 
Bring my crown and robe me swiftly, 

Antony awaits me now. 

From the throne of realms supernal. 

Where forever he must reign, 
Antony, my noble hero. 

Calls me to his arms again. 
Robe me as befits my station. 

Scent me with the fragrant balm. 
Fill with wine my silver chalice. 

My poor weary heart to calm. 



137 



Over Egypt's plains and deserts 

Caesar's triumph shall be vain ; 
Antony, to mock his victory, 

With his sword himself hath slain, 
And Cleopatra's pride unbending. 

Spurns his captive queen to be — 
Nurtured on the throne of freedom, 

Egypt's queen will e'er be free. 

What to me is fame and glory, 

What to me is crown or throne. 
Since my glorious lord and lover 

On Angel Argus' wings hath flown. 
Oh, the thought ! I cannot bear it ! 

In dreams I hearken to his call. 
And, waking, meet not his caresses ; 

My soul is turned to bitter gall. 

See how firm and true my courage. 

To my breast I press the asp, 
And, remembering thee, my lover. 

Smile upon his deadly clasp. 
Swiftly now the subtle poison 

Wends its way through every vein ; 
Noble hero, demi- Atlas, 

I will soon be thine again. 

Though thy wrecked and shattered galleys 

Strew the beech on Actium's shore. 
Though thy eagle-crested warriors 

"Bear thy banners high no more" ; 
Though thy fame of rising splendor 

O'er the world no more may shine, 
Thou hast won a grander victory — 

Cleopatra's heart is thine. 

138 



'Twas for thy "Star-eyed Egyptian" 

Thou didst fling a world away — 
Fame and glory, throne and power 

Bartered for her love a day? 
Thou, the mighty great triumvir 

Whom great Caesar feared to meet, 
Rome beheld an humble subject 

Suppliant at a woman's feet. 

But think not of thy fair Octavia 

Weeping in her widowed home, 
For 'twas God our loves united, 

Not the shallow forms of Rome, 
And it may be in the future. 

Touched by Time's soft, soothing art, 
The blow will be by her forgotten 

And love again revive her heart. 

"Though the world for this condemn thee,' 

Thou wert grand to spurn its hate; 
God ne'er made thy matchless passion 

But to find in me its mate. 
And I, too, can face its frowning. 

Gladly on thy breast to lie. 
And, when sable death divides us, 

Gladly for thy love to die. 

Let my courage prove my passion 

Whilst the asp now drains my breath, 
And, with crown and queenly vesture, 

I dare to follow thee in death. 
Haste to meet me at the river, 

Haste ! oh, haste ! to meet thy bride. 
Stretch thine arms and guide me safely 

O'er the dark and chilling tide. 

139 



Dim and dark grows all around me, 

Sense and sight are failing fast ; 
Never love like mine was fettered — 

Death shall free me now at last. 
Hark ! I grope in Stygian darkness ; 

Come, fair Iris, bear me home. 
Anthony ! my love, my hero, 

Stretch thine arms, I come ! I come ! 



^be Deatb of (tbeatbam 

The grand old soldier, Cheatham, 

Sat dying in his chair, 
And visions of the fitful past 

Came crowding on him there. 

He saw once more the legions 

And clans of mustering men. 
And heard once more the tumult 

Of war's wild, furious din. 

He heard the trump and the cannon's roar, 

The musket's deadly rattle; 
The saber's clash, the yells and groans 

And rush of men in battle. 

He saw the rising clouds of smoke. 

He heard the war-steeds neigh, 
And sniffed upon the sulphurous breeze 

The distant, deadly fray. 



140 



And then he heard the double-quick 

Of soldiers hurrying by, 
And saw, perchance, his battle flag 

Borne bravely still on high. 

And as he seemed to hear and see 

Once niore the battle storm. 
And felt within his aged veins 

His life-blood mounting warm. 

There woke within his martial breast 
Once more the kindling flame 

That nerves the patriot's heart and hand 
To daring deeds of fame. 

His chivalrous soul unyielding then 

To sickness and to pain. 
Broke forth in that wild dream of death 

To lead his troops again. 

''Bring me my horse, my horse !" he cried, 

The battle sounding nearer, 
"I'm going to the front," he said. 

His wife, oh, who can cheer her ! 

She caught his now fast drooping head, 

She saw his glazing eye ; 
He'd gone to join the great command 

Of hosts beyond the sky. 



141 



Xine0 Sent Mitb a Bouquet 

Go ! ye sweet and gentle flowers, 

To her, your queen, more fair than ye. 

And speak with your celestial powers. 
And bid her kindly think of me. 

With your fair charms entrance her eyes, 
And bless her with your sweet perfume ; 

And when in dreaming sleep she lies, 
Keep silent vigils in her room. 

And if by dreams disturbed in mind 
In whispers she should speak of me, 

Send back your spirits on the wind 
And tell me what her dreamings be. 

And, oh, what rapture 'twill impart. 
If she but softly breathe my name ; 

'Twill cheer my poor, despairing heart, 
And soothe my love's consuming flame. 

Yes, go, fair messengers so pure, 

And speak with all your emblems true ; 

With fragrant charms her heart assure 
That I my sacred vows renew. 

And if she but interpret right 

The message that your emblems tell, 

*Twill make her gentle eyes grow bright. 
And all her cruel doubts dispel. 



142 



pepper Sauce 

Times now ain't like they used to be, 

There's change in everything; 
Even the dollars of our daddies 

Have lost their old-time ring. 

Our sugar now is mixed with sand, 

Of paper shoes are made ; 
There's fraud in measures and in weights, 

In every line of trade. 

The farmer used to own his land 

And lived on all the best, 
But now the merchant owns the farm 

With its smoke-house in the West. 

No mortgage clause was on the notes 
Which our daddies used to pay, 

But now they bind up everything, 
From crops to dinner tray. 

We used to have good, honest laws — 

Laws made for honest men, 
But now our code's so full of flaws 

It's hardly worth a pin. 

Few honest statesmen can we find, 

The demagogue now rules. 
And everywhere in halls of state 

We meet with knaves and fools. 

With homestead laws they've gulled the poor, 
And exemption statutes framed. 

Till thievery they've legalized, 
And justice made ashamed. 



143 



The honest poor man's credit's gone, 
His word ain't worth a mote, 

And now to get his wife a shroud 
He must sign a mortgage note. 



(Bor&on 

(Written during his campaign for Governor.) 

Ye Southern sons of valiant sires, 

Ye comrades of the knight. 
Whose name your country's heart inspires 

With glory and delight ; 
Behold him stand before us all, 

A hero without stain, 
Calling us with honest call, 

And shall he call in vain? 

Are we to dumb forgetfulness 

So quickly fallen prey 
That all his gallant deeds for us 

Like dreams have passed away? 
Did he not for us shed his blood, 

When souls of men were tried ? 
And is there anything too good 

To be to him denied? 

No, no ! thank God, in Southern breasts 

Ingratitude dwells not ; 
And he who once our love possest 

Shall never be forgot. 
Old Shenandoah may cease to roll, 

Virginia's mountains fall ; 
But Gordon's name on freedom's scroll. 

No time shall e'er appall. 

M4 



Go mark ye on his martial cheek 

That glory beaming gem, 
That doth to us more loudly speak 

Than all the tongues of men. 
He is our Chevalier Bayard, 

Our more than Marshal Ney ; 
A patriot praised by every bard, 

"The right-hand man of Lee." 

And see upon the minaret 

Of fame's eternal height. 
His name and fame in glory set 

To shine forever bright. 
Then let us rally round our chief, 

Our leader grand and great. 
Till all his foes are put to grief, 

And he be chief of state. 



Zhc annu of ^Temperance 

The banner of temperance now widely unfurled 
Gives cheer to the nation and hope to the world. 
Its bright gleaming folds lend a glow to the sky. 
And thousands have sworn to support it or die ; 
And whilst the Creator remains on His throne 
Its fall or dishonor shall never be known. 
Raised by oppression in the cause of the right, 
All lovers of justice will 'neath it unite; 
For wherever the presence of Bacchus hath been 
Grim death and despair are there to be seen ; 
Men he has murdered by millions untold. 
Destroying their souls 'ere their bodies were cold ; 

145 



Bright homes he hath plundered of comfort and 

wealth, 
Made oceans of tears by destruction to health. 
The kind, loving father has changed to a fiend, 
The wife from her husband's affections hath 

weaned, 
The love of the, husband has changed into strife. 
Both blasting the love and the hopes of his wife. 
^Twixt brother and brother raised barriers of hate ; 
The orphan has left unprotected to fate ; 
The widow and children hath robbed of their 

bread. 
And left them to perish with hunger — unfed. 
Great minds he hath robbed of wisdom and reason, 
He has bribed the assassin and paid for arch- 
treason ; 
In the altars of God he hath found himself place, 
And left there the traces of shame and disgrace. 
Sweet maidenly virtue hath robbed of its prize. 
And done enough sin to have blackened the skies. 
Great kingdoms hath conquered, and banners hath 

furled. 
And spotted with graveyards the face of the 

world, 
He hath built on the earth the devil a throne. 
And consigned those to hell whom Heaven should 

own. 
Yes, these are the things which Bacchus hath done. 
But soon, thanks to God, his dark course will be 

run. 
Yes, mark me well now, the bright day's near at 

hand 
When the foul curse of rum shall be swept from 

the land ; 

146 



Throughout the wide world, from anear and afar, 
The armies of temperance are gathering for war. 
Justice and virtue, truth, honor and right, 
United with temperance have joined in the fight, 
And like the swift avalanche gath'ring in force, 
Overleaping obstructions that lie in its course ; 
And like the great tides of the ocean in storm, 
Uprising in might like mountains in form. 
Will come the grand army with banners all bright 
To battle for temperance, for God and the right. 
No loud booming of guns will sound in their wake. 
For they come not the lives of mortals to take ; 
No steel in their hands will be reddened with 

blood. 
No ruins mark places where houses have stood. 
No wails from the widowed and orphaned you'll 

hear. 
No red mangled corpse will be seen on its bier. 
No tramping of steed nor wild clashing of steel 
Will be heard when these armies their presence 

reveal ; 
But softly as glides the bright clouds overhead. 
And silent as voices which speak from the dead. 
Will come this great army, majestic in might, 
Bearing down on the wrong, defending the right. 
No loud beating drums, nor shrill screaming fife, 
Shall jar on the ear, giving token of strife; 
But a calmness like that of a lake in a cave 
And a peace undisturbed as the peace of the grave. 
Shall reign o'er the land, and the country will seem 
Like heavenly paradise viewed in a dream. 
The army is moving and soon will be here. 
Even now in the distance its columns appear ; 

147 



See, the hovering clouds which have darkened the 

sky, 
Recede and give Hght as the army draws nigh. 
Yes, mark you how firmly and grandly doth move 
This army approaching with banners of love ; 
'Tis coming, victorious, to claim its dominion, 
'Tis the army of temperance — Public Opinion. 



®b, Bleeeeb Be tbe ILant) 

Oh, blessed be the land, my own native land. 
The Southland so gracious and fair ; 

Beneath the broad sky of God's firmament high, 
There's no other land to compare. 

And I'll sing today with soul in my song, 

For my heart is melting with love. 
For the dear old land so glorious and grand, 

So blessed by Jehovah above. 

Not a star that burns in the heavenly dome, 
But shines with a radiance more rare, 

When poising in space above the fair face 
Of the South so gracious and fair. 

No rivers, no vales, no mountains so grand. 

No manhood so worthy to prize. 
Elsewhere can be found in all the world round 

As here 'neath our own sunny skies. 

And oh, the sweet charm, the chief of all charms, 
Which hallows, endears, and enshrines 

In the hearts of mankind — thy women refined, 
The fairest on whom the sun shines. 

148 



Then to these virgins, our own vestals fair, 

Be assigned the duty to keep 
Bright glowing the flame of undying fame, 

Of those for whom we still weep. 

But ril sing not now in my sad refrain, 

Of wrongs that our country beset, 
But lifting my eyes I'll sing to the skies. 

Of those whom we'll never forget. 

And oh ! that my muse could aid me to sing. 

With a power potential to prove. 
In grandeur of song, the dues that belong 

To heroes so worthy of love. 

From depths of my heart, with soul in each line, 

I'd sing in such rapturous strain. 
My music would move the angels above 

To catch and repeat the refrain. 

I'd sing of Davis, our faithful old chief, 
As noble and pure as ever pressed sod — 

Ne'er mortal more grand was born to command, 
Or to walk in the image of God. 

And I'd sing of Lee, the matchless,' superb. 

Of stature and courage sublime, 
A model of man, made after God's plan. 

To endure through ages of time. 

Oh ! yes, I would sing as never man sung. 

In a grand and rapturous song. 
The praise of our dead who suffered and bled, 

And who died opposing the wrong. 

149 



But alas, my poor muse, too impotent, weak, 

In me to enkindle the flame 
Of heavenly fire, with which to inspire 

A song half worthy their fame. 

Then since I must strive unaided by muse, 

My harp must in silence remain. 
My song be unsung, for never my tongue 

Can wake so lofty a strain. 

But while on its throne my reason remains, 

I can but remember the past, 
When our glorious braves went down to their 
graves, 

Each true to his flag to the last. 

Nor can I forget, no never forget, 

Their struggles heroic tho' vain. 
How bravely they stood and shed their life's blood 

Their own righteous cause to maintain. 

But a bard shall yet in the future arise, 

With genius from God to portray, 
In measures sublime, eternal as time, 

And this of our dead he will say : 

That never before nor since on the earth 
Have mortals who yearned to be free 

E'er made such a fight for God and the right, 
As made by the armies of Lee. 

Joe Johnston and Hood, great Jackson and Bragg, 
John Morgan, brave Pickett, and Hill, 

He'll mention by name, and his epic will flame, 
Till earth with their glory shall thrill. 

150 



Of these and a thousand other great names 
Will the bard most gloriously sing, 

And his wondrous song the stars will prolong 
Till heaven with music shall ring. 

And when he shall sing of the rank and file, 

The bravest that ever had birth, 
May God lend him aid, to sing undismayed, 

Till his song encircles the earth. 

Till angels on high shall hear and repeat 
That song the sweetest in heaven, 

Yes, sing and re-sing till heaven shall ring — 
Till God's own plaudits be given. 



Tomorrow, tomorrow, 

Alas, for poor me! 
I've been waiting so long 

The morrow to see 
That would bring me surcease 

From sorrow and care. 
And ease my poor heart 

Of the pain that is there. 

But, oh, the tomorrow 

For which I have sighed 
I fear will ne'er come 

Till the fountains are dried 
That now give a vent 

To my anguish and woe, 
For my only nepenthe 

Is when my tears flow. 

iSi 



All the friendship I've known 

Was sordid and base, 
All the love I have sought 

Was a butter-fly chase ; 
When the prize I had seized 

The attraction had fled, 
And my poor, hungry heart 

On emptiness fed. 

All the hopes of my youth, 

My castles in air. 
Built for the morrow, 

So brilliant and fair. 
Have mouldered in ruins. 

Have gone to decay, 
And tomorrow so bright 

Is still far away. 

The dream of tomorrow — 

How false was the dream — 
That tomorrow would come 

With a bright sunny beam. 
Dispelling the shadows 

That darken my life. 
And light up my soul, 

Now gloomy with strife. 

Yea, false was the dream. 

Each day is the same. 
The morning but dawns 

To rekindle the flame 
Of longing for pleasures 

I never can know. 
Then wanes into darkness 

And leaves me in woe. 

152 



But tomorrow will come, 

Oh, welcome the day, 
When my heart shall be still 

Beneath the cold clay; 
My pulseless, pale hands 

Across my cold breast. 
My soul with its God, 

My body at rest. 



H lbunter'0 Misb 

My former home and friends Fve left. 

And sought the forest's rugged wild. 
Whose primeval grandeur as yet 

The hand of man hath not defiled ; 
And though it is 'mid scenes like these 

That I have always loved to dwell. 
And though there's much to please me here, 

I still have cares I can't dispel. 

For when upon the mountain's top 

I stand with rapt, enchanted gaze. 
On lovely scenes which meet my view, 

Bathed in the distant mellow haze, 
Within my heart, so long and sad, 

I feel a restless, longing care. 
For one on whom my soul is set 

Is not with me the scene to share. 



153 



And when beside the flowing stream 

To Undine's song I bend my ear, 
And Hghtly tread the mossy bank, 

That sweet, low murmuring song to hear, 
'Tis then I feel how sad it is 

To waste upon the listless air 
So much of nature's melody. 

And she not there the song: to share. 



"fc> 



And when engaged in flying chase 

Excitement thrills my panting breast, 
And climbing up the mountain's side 

I pause awhile to watch and rest, 
And see the stag and hounds go by. 

As if in flight of wild despair. 
There comes, amid my wildest thoughts, 

A wish that she the scene might share. 

And when the sable shades of night 

Have fallen over hills and plains. 
Whilst tired nature takes its rest. 

And deep, unbroken silence reigns, 
'Tis then, in gloominess of mind, 

I think of her so bright and fair, 
And from my heart there steals a wish 

That she my loneliness might share. 



154 



IRot for 18rea^ Hlone 

(Response to F. L. Stanton's "Writing for Bread.") 

What, tho' you sit and silent write 
Amid the still and gloom of night, 
Where feebly flickers, faintly falls. 
The lamp's dim light on barren walls ; 
Bend not in melancholy mood. 
Nor think of your surroundings rude. 
For every care that haunts you now, 
And casts its shadows o'er your brow. 
Shall melt like mists and roll away 
And you shall see a brighter day. 

But think not that you sit alone ; 
Some glorious muse — all your own — 
Is ever with you with her wand 
To touch your pen and guide your hand 
And make thine each and every line 
With inspiration's glories shine, 
And brightly gild your every page. 
Which, brightening with each coming age. 
Shall yield you more than bread alone — 
Undying fame — and sculptured stone. 

This world is not an empty dream, 

Howe'er deceptive life may seem; 

But rich and wide its fields are spread 

For those who toil for fame and bread, 

And love and tenderness and worth. 

Like flowers that spring from mother earth, 

Will ever bloom and bud and twine 

Around the poet's sacred shrine. 

And your sweet song, in sadness sung. 

Shall live when death has stilled your tongue. 

ISS 



Your quick'ning breast by misery wrung 
Has given the charm to songs you Ve sung ; 
For in your sad and plaintive strain 
You have but voiced each brother's pain 
Who daily strives for daily bread 
And feels, in famished heart unfed, 
That subtle longing and unrest 
Which all have felt but ne'er expressed ; 
And while with you our tears we shed, 
We'll give you love as well as bread. 

Then rouse ye, brother, raise your head ; 
Your path, though not with roses spread, 
Is not more rough than all must tread 
Who strive and toil to earn their bread. 
Alone in labor can be found 
The priceless boon of great renown ; 
Then mourn not that your genius bright 
Must burn apace with lamp at night. 
For by its pale and flickering flame 
'Twill light you on to deathless fame. 

And when your pen is laid to rest — 
The pen which oft your hand hath pressed 
(With burning heart and aching head. 
And you are numbered with the dead), 
Your genius then shall claim its meed. 
Your soul on food of gods shall feed 
And you shalt taste the nectar wine 
That gods prepare for souls thus fine, 
And in Elysian regions blest 
Your soul shall have eternal rest. 



156 



3effer0on Davie* 

With love, almost idolatry, 

I honor and revere 
That grand old Southern patriot 

Who stands without a peer 
The grandest chieftain of the age, 

Tho' clouded by defeat, 
The one true heart that never quailed 

Nor bowed at victor's feet. 

His was the noblest, truest hand 

That e'er held helm of state, 
And tho' by war's wild storms oppressed. 

He bravely met his fate. 
Nor prison walls nor victor's chain 

Could e'er his heart subdue; 
To will of God alone he bowed, 

The truest of the true. 

I love him for his constancy, 

And glory in his fame ; 
Compared with all his enemies, 

He puts their best to shame. 
He is the grandest, noblest type 

Of all our chivalry, 
And for himself or Winnie's sake 

"I'd lay me down and die." 



^Written a few years prior to his death. 

157 



^berc lis IRo 6oi> (?) 

The fool hath said there is no God, 

But how should that fool know, 
Unless all space he had explored, 

In nature high and low. 
For if there be one spot or space 

Unknown in worlds or air, 
He cannot prove there is no God, 

For may not God be there ? 

To know, indeed, there is no God 

All force that fool must know, 
The power that sends the cyclones forth, 

And hurls the lightning's blow; 
For all that he or I can tell. 

Of whence they had their source, 
Amounts to nothing but a guess, 

And God may be that force. 

Then if he knows all space and force, 

Himself a God must be. 
For none but one omniscient 

Could so much know or see; 
And he, indeed, is but a fool 

Who this great truth denies, 
That there is one great living God, 

For nature proves he lies. 



iS8 



IKBiaiting ant) ©reaming 

(Written for my aged friend, Mrs. B.) 

I am waiting, I am dreaming, 

While the years are roUing by. 
And my hairs are whiter turning. 

And a dimness of my eye 
Is all that I am gaining 

From the swiftly passing years. 
Save the shortening of my journey 

To the bright celestial spheres. 

All my labors now are ended. 

Every task is finished now, 
For the stamp of many winters 

Is imprinted on my brow ; 
And a-dreaming now I ponder, 

While the years are flitting by. 
Yes, Fm dreaming of the pleasures 

Of a home beyond the sky. 

Of life's years I've had full measure. 

And I've borne my load of care ; 
I have tasted earthly pleasure. 

And of trouble had my share ; 
But now I'm old and feeble, 

My life's journey soon will cease. 
And by day and night I'm dreaming 

Of sweet Heaven and its peace. 



159 



Many friends have gone before me, 

Whom I long once more to see ; 
Many loved ones, too, are waiting 

There to greet and welcome me ; 
And while waiting and a-dreaming, 

As the years are rolling by, 
I can almost hear their voices 

Chanting anthems in the sky. 

In the Saviour I have trusted, 

Who has given me the peace 
That the understanding passeth, 

And my longings do increase 
There to stand within His presence, 

And be known as I am known ; 
And a-waiting I am dreaming 

Of sweet Jesus and His throne. 



II Moulb IRot See Iber face Heain 

(a song) 

In years gone by — how many they 

'Tis needless to proclaim — 
I met a lovely little fay 

Who set my soul aflame. 
I loved her then with all my heart. 

And know that she loved me ; 
But fate ordained that we must part. 

My bride she should not be. 

i6o 



CHORUS 

Yet framed within my memory 

Her pictured face I see ; 
A girlish face of winsome grace 

That's more than Hfe to me. 

Then ask me not, my friend, tonight 

To see her face again. 
That face, though once so fondly dear, 

Would but renew my pain 
And start afresh the stifled tear 

From these poor eyes of mine. 
Which long ago hath ceased to weep 

O'er dreams of Auld Lang Syne. 

CHORUS 

My locks with gray are sprinkled now, 

No more youth bides with me. 
And doubtless, too, upon her cheek 

Time's withering blight I'd see. 
Then ask me not to see again 

My old time sweetheart's face, 
'Twould break my heart with killing pain 

If it hath lost its grace. 

CHORUS 

Of all life's treasures left to me 

'Tis but that memory bright, 
Of one fair face I fain would see 

But dare not see tonight. 
I'd rather, rather dream on still 

Of all its charms sublime — 
'Tis all that's left my heart to fill 

Unseared by hands of Time. 



i6i 



fl'm in Xove witb Zmoo ©iris 

I'm in love with two girls — 

Now isn't that queer ? 
One's a little brunette, 

The other's quite fair; 
They both are so pretty, 

So sweet and so dear, 
To say which is dearest, 

I can't, I declare. 

But of this I'm assured — 

They dearly love me ; 
Are not the least jealous 

Wherever I be ; 
I know they are constant 

And true in their love, 
And ne'er will forsake me 

Wherever I rove. 

There are others, I know, 

More sweet — debonair. 
But in my affection 

There's none to compare 
With these little ladies 

Of whom I'm so fond — 
My black-eyed brunette 

And rosy-cheeked blonde. 

To say that I loved them 

But feebly expressed 
How deeply abiding 

Their place in my breast ; 
And the wealth of the world, 

In diamonds and pearls, 
I would count as but dross 

Compared to my girls. 
162 



And there is another, 

Of whom I've not told, 
And with whom I'm in love, 

As much as of old ; 
She's the queen of my soul, 

The charm of my life — 
My little girls' Mamma, 

My own precious wife. 



fln S)uteou0 %ove Me Come again 

In duteous love we come again 

With evergreens and brightest blooms, 
The purest offering we can bring. 

To lay upon the hallowed tombs 
Of our loved and honored dead, 

Whose deeds, heroic and sublime. 
Shall be our country's greatest pride 

Through all the years of endless time. 

When northern despots came to rob 

Our country of her liberty, 
They flew to arms in her defense. 

And, shouting loud their battle cry, 
Unfurled unto the southern breeze 

The banner of the triple bars 
And rushed to meet the coming foe 

Like heroes at command of Mars, 

163 



And on the widespread battlefield, 

Like meeting clouds before the storm, 
With banners bright and flashing blades. 

They gathered into battle form, 
And, in their fervency of heart, 

Swore by the Heaven's eternal host 
That they would never yield their rights 

Till tyrants' blood had paid the cost. 

And with their bristling bayonets 

They met the raging battle blast. 
And 'mid the sulphurous clouds of smoke. 

With which the field was overcast, 
Dealt lightning blows for libert)^ 

And poured upon the dusty plain 
Their precious life-sustaining blood 

As freely as mid-summer's rain. 

But now the storm of war is past 

And freedom's flag lies in the dust ; 
A mock of peace reigns o'er the land, 

And the most sacred, solemn trust 
That patriot hearts have ever known 

Is all that we have left to claim — 
'Tis but the ashes of our braves 

And honors of their deathless fame. 

But when the muse of history wakes. 

Released from bonds of prejudice, 
She will the grandest story tell 

Of valorous deeds and sacrifice 
That ever graced the page of fame, 

And glory, bright as Heaven's sun. 
Will shed a luster o'er the land 

Of Robert Lee and Washington. 

164 



And every nation of the world, 

Where honor's loved and patriots dwell, 
Will glorify the martyred dead 

Who 'neath the Southern banner fell ; 
And bards from every clime will come 

To where their cherished ashes lie. 
And, catching inspiration there. 

Will waft their praises to the sky. 

And nature's God, who rules above. 

Will bless the tributes which we lay, 
With loving hands in tender care, 

Upon the consecrated clay 
Which lies upon the mouldering forms 

Of as true and faithful band 
As ever praised his holy name 

Or battled for their native land. 

And with each year's returning spring 

We'll come with flowers and deck the sod 
Which marks each hero's resting place ; 

And, lifting up our hearts to God, 
Plead by the justness of their cause, 

For which their noble lives were given. 
That we may meet them all at last. 

Gathered safely into Heaven. 



Sons b^ Mnclc flDoae 

I feel so sad tonight, 
I don't know what to do. 

My heart hangs heavy in my breast. 
So I'll take my old banjo 
An' I'll sing er song er two. 

Ere I lay my poor weary head to rest. 

165 



CHORUS 

De days am sad, de nights am drear, 

But death will set me free. 
And up on high beyond de sky 

An angel I will be. 

How I have lived so long 
Since my old o'man died, 

I cannot well remember now. 
But my tears I've never dried, 
Tho' so vainly I have tried, 

Since her death cast a shadow o'er my brow. 

CHORUS 

De days am sad, de nights am drear. 

But death will set me free. 
And up on high beyond de sky 

An angel I will be. 

No more myself I seem, 

Dis world am growing wrong, 

No flowers roun' my cabin bloom, 
Not a bird will sing er song. 
An de days am sad and long, 

Since I laid my old o'man in de toomb. 

CHORUS 

De days am sad, de nights am drear, 

But death will set me free. 
And up on high beyond de sky 

An angel I will be. 



i66 



My banjo's out of tune, 
And seems toVe lost its tone, 

I, too, am gettin' old and gray. 
All my frien's am dead and gone. 
And Fm left here all alone, 

Just to wait and to weep my life away. 

CHORUS 

De days am sad, de nights am drear. 
But death will set me free. 

And up on high beyond de sky 
An angel I will be. 

But some ob dese ere nights. 
When I lay me down to sleep, 

I'll close my eyes to wake no more, 
Till she for whom I weep 
Beyond de Jordan deep, 

Wakes me up on dat bright and happy shore. 

CHORUS 

De days am sad, de nights am drear. 
But death will set me free. 

And up on high beyond de sky 
An angel I will be. 



167 



Zl)c JEiile's TOisb 

When my summons of death shall come 

And I must lay me down and die, 
I wish to be afar from home, 

Where not a single weeping eye 
Shall look upon my pallid brow 

And mark the heaving of my breast ; 
For were my senses then as now, 

I could not calmly sink to rest. 

Nor do I wish in that dread hour 

The sobs of grieving friends to hear. 
And know that 'tis not in my power 

The sadness from their hearts to cheer ; 
Nor would I feel upon my cheek 

The tender touch of loving hand, 
Nor list to lips which faltering speak 

The glories of a better land. 

But rather in some lonely cave, 

To all the world but me unknown. 
Be mine, the exile's unsought grave. 

Where soothed by the ocean's moan. 
Without a tear, without a groan, 

To end this troubled life of mine 
And leave my dust, to man unknown. 

Where sun or star-rays never shine. 



i68 



Moman ant) tbe Snafte 

REPLY TO REV. F. J. E. 

I hold it true 
And still maintain 

This fact where'er I go : 
That I or you, 
What e'er we do 

Are heirs to pain and woe. 

Old mother Eve 
The apple ate 

From the forbidden tree, 
And I believe 
'Twas to conceive, 

And so caused you and me. 

We all are here 
How e'er it be, 

And all must multiply, 
And all must bear 
Pain, grief, and care. 

And in the end must die. 

God willed it so. 
We can't deny. 

Or else it ne'er had been ; 
And thus 'tis so 
That all our woe 

Is not produced by sin. 

169 



In Eden fair, 

Ere man was made, 

Jehovah's will was law ; 
The tempter's snare 
And man's despair 

God doubtless all foresaw. 

And had He not 
Ordained that Eve 

Should of the apple eat. 
Old Eve, I wot, 
Had never got 

Deceived by such a cheat. 

And when you try 
The fact to screen, 

God's word you must forsake, 
For all must die. 
Both she and I, 

Said God ; not so the snake. 

And death, you see, 
Brings pain and woe; 

And troubles multiply. 
And you and me 
And all we see, 

Must suffer, toil and die. 

And good or bad, 
'Tis all the same, 

We can't amend the law ; 
And whether glad. 
Or whether mad. 

It is no use to jaw. 

170 



matalttia 



(Written before marriage, to my wife, on the occasion of her 
sixteenth birthday.) 



Just sixteen years have passed away 
Since precious Lizzie's natal day ; 

Just sixteen years since Nature's God 
Looked down from His abode above 

Upon this dreary mundane sod 
And saw it had no queen of love. 

Then to an angel by His side 
He did the task of love confide 

To search through all the hosts of heaven 
And find the brightest seraph there, 

That she might to the earth be given 
To reign as queen of all the fair. 

The angel then, with that command. 
Flew round among the angel band. 

And, searching, found a fairy sprite. 
With raven curls and snowy breast 

And rosy cheeks and eyes of light. 
Which brighter shone than all the rest. 

And as no fairer could be found, 

Around that sprite her arms she wound. 

And, spreading forth her wings of white. 
Flew swiftly down and brought to earth 

That little queen — the fairy sprite. 
And gave to her terrestrial birth. 



171 



And since to earth this queen was born, 
The ranks of beauty to adorn, 

With every year more fair she's grown, 
'Till I have vowed that little elf 

Shall rule but one, and one alone, 
And I shall be that one myself. 



a pea for 'mnit? 

A CAMPAIGN POEM 

Hear me, sons of Alabama ! 

Hear, oh hear my earnest plea ! 
Cease thy fratricidal warfare. 

Our nation's eyes are turned on thee. 
Let not demagogues and traitors 

With anarchistic tongues inflame 
Thy loyal hearts with madness blind 

To plunge thy State in gulfs of shame. 

Let thy pride of race unite thee ; 

Thy birthright is this godly land ; 
By God's ordained supremacy 

Thine is the right to still command. 
Then spurn, oh, spurn with bitter scorn 

The leadership of selfish knaves 
Who fain would foist upon us all 

A rulership of former slaves. 



172 



Ye have in times that tried men's souls 

Displayed your valor and your might, 
And borne through fiercest battle storms 

Old Alabama's banner bright, 
And now when threat'ning dangers lurk 

On every hand and every side, 
Oh, will ye, worthy patriots. 

Let aught your noble ranks divide? 

Our glorious Southland's holy cause 

A true Caucasian pride inspires 
In every true and honest breast 

Of Alabama's sons and sires ; 
For come what will of weal or woe. 

Our destiny must be the same ; 
In unity there's honor still — 

Division means defeat and shame. 

Then curs'd be he whose selfish soul, 

Groping in its darkened cell, 
Would on our State base odium bring — 

A degradation worse than hell. 
For when rape fiends and radicals 

Shall grasp once more the reins of state, 
God pity helpless women fair. 

Shield and protect them from their fate! 

Then let us all together come, 

United firm in heart and hand, 
And swear by God's eternal love 

To shield and save our native land. 
Yes, swear by God who made the blood 

Which flows in every white man's veins, 
That true to our Caucasian race 

We'll loyal stand while life remains. 

173 



®ur Solbiere' (Bravea 

(Written in Oak Hill Cemetery, Atlanta, Decoration Day.) 

Behold the hosts with solemn tread, 

As on in silence now they move, 
Amid the graves where sleep the dead 

Who died for this dear land we love. 

'Tis not for pride and vain display 

That they have sought this hallowed ground, 
But love's commands, which they obey. 

To honor every sacred mound. 

See, every hand a garland bears. 
Of evergreens and sweetest blooms. 

Bathed with the heart's sincerest tears, 
To decorate those hallowed tombs. 

The task is one sublimely grand, 

And all that martyr ever craves, 
Or claims of the survivor's hand — 

A tribute to their silent graves. 

No monument of lettered stone, 

However high may be its head, 
So much of love can e'er make known. 

As do these tears by beauty shed. 

And oh ! what more could patriots ask. 

As they look down from heavenly spheres. 

And see performed this grateful task, 

Their graves o'erstrewn with flowers and tears. 



174 



H %onv*e pique 

Fair girl, if thou couldst only know 

How much of love thou art possessed, 
Thou wouldst the cruel slights forego 

By which my heart's so oft distressed ; 
Nor would thy lips in cold disdain 

E'er with scornful smile reprove me, 
Unless 'tis pleasure to give pain 

To one who cannot help but love thee. 

Ne'er wouldst that sparkling eye of thine 

E'er blanch me with its glance of hate, 
Nor wouldst thou scorn these tears of mine. 

And bid me curse my bitter fate. 
Nay, nay, not so, if thou but'st knew 

How helpless I am to control 
That flame of love which lit by you. 

Which day and night consumes my soul. 

But pity would with soothing wand 

Thy heart to soft impulses move, 
And thou who art so proud and grand 

Shouldst pity my unhappy love. 
Repentance, too, within my heart, 

Shouldst fill thy lovely eyes with tears. 
And bid thy quivering lips impart 

Sweet words of solace to mine ears. 

But go! thy pity I disdain; 

My manhood's pride is now returning ; 
For tho' I've loved so long in vain. 

The flame at last must cease its burning ; 
Yes, true, for even whilst I write, 

Altho' the change has come so late. 
My soul's aglow with new-born light. 

From fires of newly kindled hate. 

175 



Yes, go ! and be thou cursed or blest, 

Thy love and pity I disdain ; 
For now I feel within my breast 

No more the slightest touch of pain, 
Nor would I lose one single breath 

To yield a sigh of one regret, 
But rather would I face my death 

Than suppliant sue to base coquette. 



Dicing Hbelarb 

Here within this gloomy abbey. 

Where I came to hide my shame, 
I now welcome death's approaches 

Which must soon my spirit claim. 
Years have passed since first I entered 

Through this ill-foreboding door, 
Casting off the wreaths of laurel 

Which in glory once I wore. 

And with memories wrought in sorrow, 

Slowly wearing out my life, 
I have prayed the coming summons 

That should end my bosom's strife. 
Even now while sable shadows 

Darken o'er my glazing eye. 
Calmly I receive the warning, 

Feeling that 'tis sweet to die. 

176 



But oh, my faithful Heloise, 

To thee my dying spirit flies, 
And the past with sorrows laden. 

In my burning thoughts arise ; 
And I see thee pure and lovely. 

As before I brought thee shame. 
And I hear thy earnest pleading. 

To forsake thee — for my fame. 

And I see the look of anguish 

Settle on thy features still. 
As when first the curse of passion 

Triumphed o'er thy virtuous will. 
Oh, the memories of that hour, 

How they cling with keen regret ; 
Would to God my awful sinning 

I could banish or forget. 

All my fortune, fame, and glory 

I relinquished for thy smile. 
Smothered was my soul and conscience, 

By my passion's subtle guile ; 
And when all too late repenting, 

I had taken thee, to wife, 
Fulbert, in his brutal vengeance. 

Worse than robbed me of my life. 

Hark, methinks I hear thy voice ! 

Yes, oh, yes ! I see thy face ; 
Quick, my long neglected idol, 

Clasp me in thy warm embrace ; 
Lay thy hands upon my brow, 

Whilst those burning lips of thine 
Impart once more their latent heat 

To these frozen lips of mine. 

177 



Alas ! 'tis o'er, 'twas but a dream 

Of my racked and frenzied brain, 
And thou, my own sweet Heloise, 

I will never see again. 
Still and dark is all around me, 

Soon my breast will cease to swell, 
God of mercy shield and keep thee. 

Sweet Heloise, fare thee well. 



Zhc 2)ube 

There's a fellow in this city. 

And I guess you know him well. 
But if not 'tis no pity. 

For he's but a fancy swell, 
Who only lives for pleasure, 

A life of ease and rest. 
And of all his mammy's children, 

He loves himself the best. 

You'll find him at the races. 

The party and soiree, 
And in the ladies' faces 

He fondly looks to see 
A smiling recognition 

Of his form so finely drest. 
For of all his mammy's children. 

He loves himself the best. 

178 



He drives the finest horses 

And dances with much grace, 
Tho' in his weazen features 

The monkey you can trace. 
He's a four-ply base-ball critic, 

At billiards plays with zest, 
And of all his mammy's children. 

He loves himself the best. 

But at the ball and picnic 

This la da da young dude 
Gets in his finest antics, 

His monkey actions rude; 
A crank he is on waltzing 

With a dudine on his breast. 
For of all his mammy's children, 

He loves himself the best. 

I guess the God who made him 

Must have made him for a cause. 
But really I'm too shallow 

To imagine what it was ; 
His head I know is empty, 

No virtue fills his breast, 
But of all his mammy's children. 

He loves himself the best. 



179 



Brave micftell of Ikcntucfti? 

All through the day in battle fray 

Brave Nickell nobly stood, 
And when the fight had closed with night 

And the field was red with blood, 
When all had fled except the dead 

Of his followers on the field, 
He stood alone with flashing gun 

Disdaining still to yield. 

Like lightning's crash his carbine's flash 

Rang out with fearful dread. 
And every peal from out his steel 

Still added to the dead. 
Loud bursting shell around him fell 

And fast the bullets flew. 
But, trusting God, he trode the sod, 

A hero brave and true. 

But e'en the best must take their rest, 

And he must sleep at last, 
And ere the dawn of coming morn 

The tyrants held him fast. 
His arms they bound and 'round him wound 

Long cords of strength and power, 
And martial Judge, with spiteful grudge, 

Soon fixed his fatal hour. 

Yes, right away he fixed the day; 

And in the self-same breath. 
With demon smile, named Johnson's Isle, 

His place to meet his death. 
But not a word or muscle stirred 

When the sentence struck his ear, 
He stood alone, like cast of stone, 

Unmoved by grief or fear. 
i8o 



And when he stood and calmly viewed 

The beam and dangling rope, 
His manly will, with courage still 

Unblanched by flight of hope, 
Showed from his eyes, without disguise, 

A heart with pluck imbued — 
A soul of flame, which would not tame, 

Nor be by death subdued. 

No friend was there his thoughts to share, 

No priest with him to pray ; 
But never man since time began 

Met death with less dismay. 
To friends in gray he bid them say, 

When death had closed his eye. 
That true to God and native sod. 

He never feared to die. 



Hbieu to ''1Rineti?*«four 



»t ^ 



Adieu ! adieu ! old ninety-four. 

Your last, last sun is set ; 
Go take your place on Styjjian shore, 

Unmourned by one regret. 

For though by you we're nearer brought 

To life's fast coming end, 
You've brought to none of pleasure aught 

And proved to none a friend. 



•Written December 31, 1894, at the close of general hard times. 

181 



But much of that we'd won by toil 
YouVe pilfered in your stay, 

And now like some marauding thief 
By night you steal away. 

How many homes all desolate, 

Their ruin sad to view ; 
How many orphans left to fate, 

Old year, are due to you ? 

Your footprints on the shores of time 

Forever will remain; 
But scarce a heart in any clime 

Will wish you back again. 

Then go and be forever gone; 

All that you promised fair 
Hath been withheld, and hopes forlorn 

Attest how false you were. 

Your dying dirge will fittin_sf seem 
When gong and clanging bell, 

And everything with breath of steam 
Shall sound your parting knell. 

Then let your spirit take its flight. 
Your pinions quickly spread, 

To shores of dark Plutonian night 
To sleep with ages dead. 

Earth's mantle, now of whitest snow, 
Shall be your winding sheet. 

The stars shall funeral tapers glow, 
The winds your requiems meet. 

182 



Hark ! Now I hear the whistles shriek, 

I hear the clanging bell ; 
Avaunt ! begone ! your doom they speak- 

Farewell, old year, farewell. 



Zbc (5irl0 of Silver Creek 

Toeta nascitur non fit," 
Some ancient sage or bard has writ, 
But I was not a poet born, 
Or if I was, I've spoilt the horn ; 
At least I'm no poetic spoon. 
Or if I am, was pulled too soon ; 
Nor have I climbed Parnassus Mount, 
Or drunk from Helicon's sweet fount ; 
Nor do I woo the sacred nine 
To aid me in this task of mine, 
Nor need I the Pegasus' jade. 
For theme like mine should claim no aid. 
I need no Latin, French, or Greek 
To praise the girls of Silver Creek. 
Their charms alone my pen inspire 
And lift me from prosaic mire 
That I must tread when praising men. 
Or telling facts "that might have been" ; 
I'll drink not e'en the ruby wine 
To wake within me thoughts divine; 
But trusting naught for inspiration 
I'll write as suits my inclination. 
Let critics mouth and criticise, 
'Tis critics that I most despise. 

183 



Fools find it easier faults to find 

Than their own business ends to mind. 

But hang it all ! this long prelude 

Is wasting time and does no good. 

So, girls, here goes ; know I'm your friend, 

I hope to please and not offend. 

The first of whom Til sing is Matt, 

She's full of fun and awful fat ; 

Where'er she goes it's "get out sadness," 

Make room for fun, good will and gladness. 

She's a sugar lump of sweetest joys, 

And weighs two hundred avoirdupois. 

The next is Georgia, her fair sister, 

A kiss from whom would raise a blister ; 

She's neat and tidy as a pin, 

And has a heart that knows no sin. 

That she's a beauty, bet your life. 

And would make a man a noble wife. 

And there is Annie — she's a daisy. 

Enough to run a lover crazy. 

She's young and gentle, sweet and tender, 

A lovely blonde, graceful, slender; 

Her lips with ripe twin cherries vie. 

And roses bow when she goes by. 

Then Jennie R., the little fairy ; 

Bashful, timid and so wary ; 

To flatter her were just as silly 

As trying to paint the fairest lily. 

But what shall I of Julia say? 

Would I a worthy tribute pay 

To her kind heart and gen'rous soul, 

I'd need the heavens for a scroll ; 

On less of space I could not find 

Room to praise her heart so kind ; 

184 



But since such space can't be her meed, 

The will is given for the deed. 

And now the next is Etta's name. 

To wake my soul's poetic flame; 

And as I clasp my willing pen 

To praise this fairy of the glen, 

My thoughts run wild, my heart beats high, 

But to flatter her I need not try ; 

Her charms no pen can eulogize. 

But he who wins her wins a prize. 

And then there's Ida, whom we so miss, 

To have her back would give us bliss. 

Full hany hearts will sigh and ache 

'Till she returns, for her sweet sake. 

Nor Lizzie B. will I omit. 

When praising beauty, worth and wit ; 

For those are graces all her own, 

And thousands more I can't make known. 

Nor would I here Miss Lula slight, 

For slighting her would not be right. 

She's full of goodness, pluck and grit, . 

And knows the rule, "git up and git." 

I cannot praise her worth too much. 

The world were better for more just such — 

But like the dessert after dinner. 

As sure as I'm an honest sinner, 

I've left the best to be the last. 

In winding up my rhyme's repast. 

'Tis Emma W., she's a whizzer ; 

A thousand boys would like to squeeze her. 

For she's so plump, so sweet and fair, 

Tom I n sighs to be a bear. 

185 



But Tom, old boy, you need not sigh, 
The best of grapes are always high ; 
The sweetest sugar's in hard lumps, 
And queens are caught by bigger trumps ; 
But sail in, Tom, with all the rest. 
For he who wins is more than blest. 



Malting an& ILonsing 

How long seem the days, and what ages the 

weeks. 
Since, darling, my lips I last pressed to thy 

cheeks ; 
And oh! with what longing, what anguish and 

pain, 
I wait for the day when I'll see thee again. 

The nights are so long, so lonely without thee ; 
My thoughts and my dreams are ever about thee ; 
Sleep woos not my lids, tho' tired and weary, 
Life is a burden, existence is dreary. 

In bright gilded halls of pleasure's resort, 
Where the joyous and gay with companions 

consort ; 
The laughter there heard and all that I see, 
O'erwhelms me with sadness and longings for 

thee. 



i86 



On the streets when I stroll and join with the 

throng 
Of multitudes rushing, hurrying along, 
All aimless I wander on no mission bent, 
And naught that I find can bring me content. 

Oh, what in this life is worth living for me 
When thy face and thy form no longer I see? 
No music can soothe me, no pleasure delight; 
When thou art not near me my life is a blight. 

Then fly ye winged hours and hasten the day 
That shall bring me surcease from my longing 

dismay ; 
When the sunshine of love, the smiles of my wife 
Shall banish the gloom now dark'ning my life. 



XKHe Come ®nce nDore 

We come once more, and with us bring 
The sweetest flowers of early spring, 
To decorate the lonely graves 
Of our loved, departed braves. 

'Tis duty's call which we obey. 
That prompts the tributes which we pay 
To those who sleep in death's embrace, 
Who died for honor and their race. 

And as we deck each holy mound, 
We'll humbly kneel upon the ground. 
And raise our hearts in prayer to God 
To bless our patriot's hallowed sod. 

187 



a TKHoman of tbe ^own 

Only a fallen woman, 

Mark the paint upon her cheek, 
That hides the faltering blushes 

Where modesty would speak ; 
Spurn her from your church's door, 

Seat her not in sacred pew ; 
Her soul is steeped in vileness, 

Let her learn her wrongs to rue. 

Bar all your homes against her 

And spurn her on the street, 
Let her ears to scornful hisses 

Hearken when you chance to meet. 
She has parted with her virtue. 

She was tempted and she fell. 
And now, with scornful daggers, 

Help to drive her soul to hell. 

Jesus, the dying Saviour, 

Only shed his precious blood 
To pave the way to Heaven 

For the virtuous and the good. 
The unfortunates of passion, 

And of man's deceiving lies. 
Must never hope for pardon 

Nor to mount the Christian's skies. 

If she ask of you for bread, 

Be sure you give her a stone — 
Perhaps 'twill gall her conscience 

And extort a deeper groan. 
Let her feel your pious vengeance. 

Crush her heart beneath your heel. 
And think how Christ will bless you 

For the spirit you reveal. 
i88 



Never touch her sinful hand, 
Nor beside her kneel and pray; 

Shut the book of life against her. 
Let her go her sinful way. 

Sting her soul with contumely, 
Never let to her be known 

That Christ has said that the sinless 
Should be first to cast a stone. 

Oh, you hollow-hearted men. 

And you, women in your pride. 
Behold this fallen outcast 

While your consciences decide 
If you should have forgiveness 

For all your sinful stains. 
While she, poor erring mortal, 

Must, unpitied, wear her chains. 



(5ive fl5e for a frienb 

Give me for a friend 

The warm-hearted man. 
Who dares to do right. 

Whatever betide ; 
Whose love-beaming eye 

Some virtue will scan 
In the worst of all those 

Whom braggarts deride. 

189 



I ask not his name, 

Nor care for his birth; 
Whether Gentile or Jew, 

No need to inquire; 
Whether highly in fame. 

Or lowly of earth. 
If his heart warmly beats 

With love-kindled fire. 

Yes, give me the man 

Whose soul-beaming eye 
Grows moist with a tear 

At pity's appeal, 
And who to the call 

Is ready to fly. 
And a liberal heart 

By actions reveal. 

Yes, give me the man 

With carriage erect, 
In the lines of whose lips 

True courage I'll trace; 
Who's slow in a friend 

A fault to detect, 
But ready and quick 

A foeman to face. 

Let him be a true man, 

From dogmas all freed, 
Whose mind is his book. 

His conscience his guide; 
Who deigns not to stoop 

To priest-ridden creed. 
But walks by the light 

Which God hath supplied. 

190 



Xine0 for ^banftagivins Wa^ 

When nature's God with plastic hand 

His pencils dip in rainbow dyes 
To paint the autumn forest grand, 

Such rapturous beauty greets mine eyes 
That I perforce from pure delight 

And gratitude to God in Heaven, 
For such sublime, entrancing sight 

Must thanks return for rapture given. 

I render thanks for fruitful fields, 

Snow-banked with fleecy cotton white. 
For golden wealth that harvest yields, 

For fruit and flowers my soul's delight. 
Oh ! yes, for these rich blessings rare, 

I bend my head and bless the sod. 
While from my lips I breathe a prayer 

Of gratitude and thanks to God. 

And when my wistful gaze I turn 

To great ethereal dome above, 
Where astral lamps eternal burn 

Swung out through God's supernal love 
To light me to his home on high, 

I feel my soul with rapture swell 
And winged with prayer thanksgivings fly 

To Him who doeth all things well. 



191 



H pbilippic on jexemption Xavos 

It used to be, but ain't so now, that men would 
pay their debts, 

But thinking now of that time past, I sigh with 
vain regrets ; 

Protecting laws for scheming knaves, the bill- 
collector greets, 

But nowhere in our code we find a law against 
"dead-beats." 



Exemption laws, for knaves a shield, the dema- 
gogues have made, 

Which license gives to every thief who wills to 
ply his trade. 

Our honest tradesmen vainly seek in courts their 
rights to gain, 

Whilst sleek-fed rascals sit and smile to see them 
seek in vain. 



Statutes of anti-garnishment, dishonest men pro- 
tect. 

And every poor man's word or note our trades- 
men must reject. 

For since all the laws have been repealed for 
creditor's relief, 

We dare not credit any man lest he should prove 
a thief. 

But men with millions to invest, in goods to sell 

on time. 
For poor men spread the mortgage net and seine 

for every dime. 

192 



And they who in their meshes caught, like sheep 

by shearers tied, 
Are oftimes clipped so close for wool, they lose 

both wool and hide. 

But let us all, as honest men, these devilish laws 

efface, 
They foster and encourage theft, our state they 

do disgrace. 
The poor man's credit they impair, the shylock's 

coffers fill. 
And all who advocate such laws, a prison cell 

should fill. 



IF IRcalli? mm -Be Singeb if IT 5)o 

My old aunt is a sour old maid. 
And unto me she's often said 
That men are born but to deceive 
And never one should I believe ; 
That love is all an empty dream, 
And marriage, too, is but a scheme 
Of men to get them slaves for life. 
And I should never be a wife. 
All this, and more, to me she's said, 

And thinks I think her words are true. 
And that I, too, will be an old maid — 

But I really will be dinged if I do. 



193 



There's Captain John, — old hypocrite, — 

Who I don't love a little bit ; 

He comes round smiling sweet on me. 

He's forty, but says thirty-three. 

And says that girls should never wed 

With men sans gray hairs on their head ; 

That all young men by nature's rules 

Are worthless, hair-brained, thriftless fools; 

That I must wed and love him dear ; 

That he is rich and loves me true. 
But for what he says I do not care. 

And I really will be dinged if I do. 



Zbc Mrecft 

'Tis over now, the dream is past, 
A dream it was — too bright to last ; 

I know the worst, I feel it all. 
My last bright hope has fled; 

I take the cup and drink the gall, 
Though tears no more I'll shed. 

Yet, welling up in memory strong, 
I measure still the awful wrong; 

His loving words were, oh, so dear, 
I blindly followed on. 

And now there's naught my heart to cheer. 
My faith in man is gone. 



194 



But oh, unequal and unjust, 

That he who won my love and trust. 
And then betrayed me to my shame, 

Tho' guiltier far than I, 
Escapes the penalties and blame, 

Whilst I must worse than die. 

For I have learned, alas, too late ! 

To mourn my sad and bitter fate ; 
Have learned in bitter anguish deep 

How base man is — unjust. 
And learned how useless 'tis to weep, 

When conquered by his lust. 

But so it is, the die is cast. 
The past is now forever past ; 

Nor pleading prayer, nor mints of gold, 
Nor all my curses vain 

Can lift the guilt from off my soul, 
Nor bring my virtue back again. 

Could I alone but bear the shame. 
And sully not my parent's name. 

My bleeding heart should bleed alone, 
My lips should murmur not. 

And I might stifle every groan. 
And cease to wail my lot. 

But when I think that with my fall, 
My friends, my brothers, sisters, all. 

And every kindred link on earth 
Must share the blighting stain — 

Yes, even my babe before its birth — 
The thought doth wreck my brain. 



195 



Ah, yes, ah, yes, e'en now I feel 

My vague and wandering senses reel ; 

Black demons strike and serpents dart. 
And fiends, the blackest, round me yell ; 

My friends forsake, my heart strings part ; 
Oh, welcome, death and hell. 



Impelled by that resistless fate 

Which guides me with an iron hand, 

I must forsake the scenes of late. 
To roam again some other land. 

For it has ever been my lot 

'Mid strangers all my life to roam, 
And never find on earth a spot 

That I may even claim as home. 

And knowing not where next I'll be, 
I follow on without a fear. 

For since these scenes no more I'll see, 
There's nothing else excites a care. 

But let me go where'er I may. 

There's not a scene that I'll forget ; 

There's not a friend but every day 
I'll think of with a sad regret. 

196 



Nebo and Hebron* oft will rise 

In sweet imaginative view, 
And looking on the starry skies, 

My soul will all its hopes renew. 

Round Island, too, and Bethlehem* 

Will in affection ever dwell. 
For sacred truths first learned in them 

Have sunk in memory's deepest cell. 

And friendly faces that I've loved, 
Imprinted on my inmost heart. 

Will linger there by time unmoved, 
And only with my life depart. 

There's Robert L., my noble friend. 
From whom I part with keenest pain, 

For him my love shall never end, 
Tho' we may never meet again. 

Yes, and there is still another — 

Dear Thomas S., whose generous heart 

Makes me love him like a brother. 
And grieves my soul that we must part. 

And oft when I in slumbers lie, 
My soul, escaping from my breast, 

Will back to Minnie swiftly fly. 
And vigils keep while she's at rest. 

But why should I their names repeat. 
Or let my muse their virtues tell. 

When we on earth no more shall meet, 
So, friends and loved ones, fare ye well. 



*Nebo, Hebron. Round Island and Bethlehem were names o£ 
churches in a county in Alabama. 

197 



®ur 1Ratton*6 Sbame * 



"Belmont and the Rothschilds (the English syndicate) will pro- 
tect our nation's credit." — Carlisle. 



I am a freeman and declare 

Before my God and fellow-man, 
That rather than I e'er should wear 

The shackles of that craven clan 
Who bend the knee at Mammon's shrine 

And stultify our nation's pride, 
I would far rather see decline 

My life's last sun in Lethe's tide. 

I love my God and fellow-men, 

And honor still my country's flag; 
I love her every glade and glen, 

Her every stream and mountain crag; 
I love her history and the men 

Whose hands the stars and stripes unfurled, 
And wrought for her a glory then 

The brightest that has blessed the world. 

And I will swear and firmly vow 

In spite of all that may betide. 
That I will never bend, nor bow, 

Or leaning, veer toward the side 
Of that base, venial, bribe-bought man. 

That Jumbo-Judas of our day. 
That chieftain of a cuckoo clan 

Who would my country's rights betray. 



*Written during the second term of Cleveland's administration. 

198 



No ! no ! I loathe, I spurn, I hate, 

With deep disgust my soul is stirred 
At very thought of such a fate 

As on my land has been conferred 
By that vile traitor, Shylock's tool. 

Disgracing now the honored seat 
Where Washington was wont to rule 

When England groveled at his feet. 

But now, my God! my countrymen! 

Behold the shame upon us brought, 
Yea, looking, see and tell me when 

Was e'er before upon us wrought 
Such ignominy and disgrace 

As shames our nation's honor now. 
Let Freedom's Goddess hide her face 

While such disgrace shall stain her brow. 

See how has sunk our nation's pride, 

How mean our independence now 
Since England, whom we long defied,' 

Can come and make us humbly bow 
And eat the crumbs she deigns to give ; 

Yea, lick her hand as curs might do 
And thank our God she lets us live — 

Ye gods ! the thought doth make me spew. 

But out with all such twaddle base. 

This is the land Columbus gave. 
And never shall a foreign race 

Degrade our eighty millions brave; 
But true to God and all that's right 

Old England we will still defy. 
And in our majesty and might 

We'll rule this land or, fighting, die. 

199 



Then down with that arch-traitor bold, 

And every hirehng satehite; 
Our nation's honor to uphold 

Should be each patriot's chief delight. 
Down with the English syndicate 

Who dares our nation's rights abuse, 
And sweep from oif our ship of state 

That craven crew of base "cuckoos." 

And glorious, let "Old Glory" still 

Before all nations proudly wave, 
Whilst every mint shall stamp and mill 

The dollars that our fathers gave. 
No English Shylock or Cuckoo* 

Shall brook the wrathful, rising tide, 
For what we would, we dare to do 

In fostering still our nation's pride. 



flDi? f rienb 

My friend of today is my friend of tomorrow, 
His joy is my joy, his sorrow my sorrow ; 
Let him be what he will, his acts I approve. 
For I see not his faults, so great is my love. 

I've known him full long and know him full well, 
Of his many good traits 'tis needless to tell ; 
But sufficient to me is this above all, 
He's a friend unto those whom misfortunes befall. 



*Cuckoo, the name facetiously given by one wing of the Demo- 
cratic party to those Democrats who endorsed President Cleveland 
in his course on the money question. 

200 



He wears not the symbol of creed or of church, 
But when charity calls is not found in the lurch, 
And bearing no trumpet to sound his own praise. 
His conscience by him is more treasured than bays. 

Never daunted by fear, when dangers arise. 
Nor wearing a mask, his thoughts to disguise ; 
He's a friend to his friends and a foe to his foes, 
And his actions his noble impulses disclose. 

He is rich, but not with bright silver and gold, 
Nor many broad acres hath he to control ; 
But richer, far richer, than Croesus the king, 
His wealth is the peace his conscience doth bring. 

Unsordid, unselfish ; he's a man I can trust. 

For his words and his deeds are all meant to be 

just. 
And though he may err in whole or in part, 
'Tis a fault of his judgment and not of his heart. 

And now, as in past, "let fate do her worst," 
My hopes be destroyed, my prospects accursed ; 
Come weal or come woe, let me sink, let me swim, 
I'll be true to my friend though the world should 
condemn. 

And were there some ruby or diamond more bright 
Than the fairest of gems in the crown of the night. 
Or should all the stars turn to diamonds and fall, 
I would not give my friend, if I could, for them all. 



201 



^be IRiQbt 

On the world's broad stage of action, 

Whatsoever part you play, 
Let it be your soul's attraction 

To do all the good you may ; 
Heed not you the voice of jeering, 

Notice not the foes who slight; 
Lift your head with manly bearing, 

Let your motto be "The Right." 

Seeming friends will round you linger 

When your labors meet success, 
But will point a scorning finger 

When they see you in distress; 
And it may be they will trample 

On you with a tyrant's might — 
But forbear from their example. 

Let your motto be "The Right." 

Oft temptations in your pathway, 

Like fair roses, will be spread ; 
Deceitful charms to lead astray. 

Hiding dangers from your tread ; 
For oft beneath "fair roses" lie 

Serpents of most deadly bite ; 
So always keep an open eye, 

Let your motto be "The Right." 

First see that what you undertake 

Is just and right before you start, 
Then when you've done so, loose the brake, 

And go ahead with all your heart ; 
Think not of troubles on the track, 

Tho' many dangers meet your sight. 
Face them bravely, force them back ; 

Let your motto be "The Right." 

202 



Should slanderers base your name assail, 

Turn away with heedless ear ; 
Should friends forsake and fortune fail, 

Still to duty persevere; 
For every star that shines above 

Shines on tho' clouds obscure the light- 
So let the stars a lesson prove — 

Let your motto be "The Right." 

Then when from earth you pass away, 

And your soul on wings of love 
Has reached the shores of endless day 

In that spirit land above, 
You'll find inscribed above the throne, 

In characters of living light, 
The motto which has been thine own — 

The golden motto of "The Right." 



XKIloman 

RESPONSE TO THE TOAST "WOMAN^' 

Fair woman, sweet woman, grand is the theme. 

Yet weak, oh ! how weak, my powers all seem 

When I dare to essay a task so divine 

As weaving a wreath her brow to entwine. 

Nowhere can I find in fancy's wide range 

Words to express my emotions so strange — 

Emotions that rise welling up in my soul 

And hold me spell-bound by their subtle control, 

203 



Defying all efforts of tongue and of brain 
Yes, strive as I may, my struggle is vain, 
And yet, tho' I know how impotent — vain, 
My efforts must be, I will not refrain 
When called to respond to the toast you propose. 
Though words are too weak to ever disclose 
The depths of my love and lasting respects 
For that best gift of God — the fair female sex. 
Shall I speak of her now as the mother who bore 

us, 
Who kissed and caressed us and fondly watched 

o'er us 
Through infancy's hours and childhood's bright 

years. 
Who smiled when we smiled and wept with our 

tears. 
Who nourished us through all sickness and pain ? 
Oh, name of sweet mother, all language is vain 
When I would but express or faintly impart 
A glint of that love that wells in my heart 
When that name ever sacred falls on my ear, 
Or I breathe it with reverence as now I do here. 
And now of the maidens, oh, what shall I say ? 
Pile Ossa on Pelion, ye gods if I may. 
Pluck from all Heaven the orbs of the night. 
Twist rainbows and rivers into garlands all bright, 
Boil down Mount Vesuvius, old Aetna condense, 
And mix with chain-lightning and bring them 

now hence, 
Transform all the ocean into gems of bright 

thought 
And give all unto me to praise as I ought 
These angels of earth — the to-be mother pearls. 
These — these, oh, I "bust," but God bless the girls ! 

204 



Now what of our wives, those angels of joy, 
What thoughts can I give, what words can employ, 
To tell of their Constance, devotion, and love? 
O God, send me aid by that harbinger dove 
With some olive of hope, some de bon augure, 
Just tribute of praise to her merit to pay. 
Oh, behold while I speak, my wife at my side, 
And what shall I do if this aid be denied ? 
Just think of her wrath and my troubles to come 
When we leave this bright hall and she gets me 

back home ! 
Then send me some aid — ye muses all nine, 
Or a fate worse than death I know will be mine. 
So here's to the wives, let me fail if I must, 
But to do them up well on Heaven I'll trust 
To guide and direct me in what I shall say, 
For to fail, I well know, means the devil to pay. 
Yes ! yes ! the dear wives — sweet angels of love 
Sent down by Creator from the Heavens above, 
To guide and direct us in the ways that are right 
And to quiz us next day when we've stayed out at 

night; 
To renew our shirt buttons, and squander our 

riches, 
Point us upward to God, and to patch our old 

breeches ; 
To bring us sweet kidlets — a new one each year — 
Keep up with the fashions and show she don't care 
For panics that come our hearts to appal, 
But will dress like the rest, though the heavens 

should fall, 
Whether hoop-skirt or pull-back, cut high or cut 

low, 
Becoming or not doesn't cut any show — 

205 



To all that is fashion they quickly give heed 
And die of hysterics if not found in the lead. 
But in spite of all this, God bless their sweet souls, 
Their love is the strength that supports and 

controls 
Whatever is best in the nature of man. 
And their love is inwove, web and woof in each 

plan. 
Which the wisdom of man has ever proposed, 
Or the cunning and strength of his hand has 

disclosed. 
Then here's to the ladies, their health let us drink. 
Let each cup and each goblet be filled to the brink 
With wine, rosy wine. No ! its color of red 
Would remind her of blood her heart has oft shed 
In mourning and sorrow, and grief's bitter woe 
Resulting from wine that hath death in its glow. 
Nor shall it be rum or sparkling champagne — 
These, too, sear the heart and sully the brain. 
But come, noble knights, let our goblets be filled 
With that drink which our God himself hath 

distilled 
And sends in the raindrops and sparkling bright 

dew, 
A drink the most precious that mortal e'er knew — 
Yes, water, pure water, sparkling and bright. 
Fit emblem of purity, virtue, and right. 
Then up with your cups and bright gleaming 

glasses, 
Let us drink to our mothers, our wives, and the 

lasses ; 
May their lives ever be as pure and as bright 
As this clear crystal water, and as free from all 

blight 

206 



As the roses just kissed with the dews of God's 

love, 
And their souls be as white as the snows from 

above. 
May angels attend them and guide them in ways 
Where pleasures abound to the end of their days. 
And when at life's end death's summons shall 

come, 
May those angels be with them to lead them up 

home 
To that place built above — that Heaven supernal, 
Where in peace and in love they may live on 

eternal, 
Each wearing a crown, as we know they all should, 
Prepared b}^ our God for the virtuous and good. 



Zbc QoMcfB (Brave 

Hallowed by man and bless'd by God, 
Is ever the turf which covers the dead, 

But doubly bless'd and hallowed the sod 
Which lies o'er the martyred patriot's head. 

'Tis there that brightest flowers bloom 
And birds in peace most sweetly sing. 

While glory there dispels the gloom 
And death itself doth lose its sting. 

'Tis there that purest tears are shed. 

Tears not of pity, but of love ; 
For tho' we weep above the dead. 

We know the spirit's with God above. 



207 



'Tis there that brightest dews are seen, 

'Tis there that winds most plaintive moan, 

Tis there the moon's soft silvery sheen 
Doth lightest rest o'er Heaven's own. 

'Tis there that women love to kneel 
When prayers sincere most fluent flow, 

For in their hearts they seem to feel 
That Heaven's gain is our woe. 



Hn ®rpban'6 Stori? 

(Written for and recited by a little girl on the occasion of a 
public entertainment given by a lodge of the Knights of Honor.) 

Six months ago times were so bad, 

Poor father left us all so sad, 

And went in search of work to do, 

For things at home were awful blue ; 

We had no sugar, tea nor meat. 

And very little else to eat; 

Our clothes were thin, our feet were bare. 

In fact starvation seemed to stare. 

Times were indeed so awful blue, 

Poor father knew not what to do ; 

Day after day for weeks in vain 

He tried some kind of work to gain. 

But every day 'twas just the same. 

When home at night he weary came, 

I'd hear him to poor mother say, 

'T've not a dollar earned today." 

And then he'd bow his head and sigh 

And say he wished that he could die. 

208 



Poor mother then would try to cheer 

By saying better times were near, 

And round his neck her arms would place 

And kiss his lips and kiss his face, 

And gently stroke his roughened hair, 

Striving thus to soothe his care ; 

Although her bleeding heart the while 

Was breaking, she would sweetly smile, 

And beg him look to God for aid 

And be not in his heart dismayed. 

Telling him how the ravens fed 

Poor Lijah when he prayed for bread ; 

But papa was not much on prayer, 

Nor much relied on raven fare ; 

He only on himself relied 

To furnish what should be supplied. 

Such as clothing, coal, and food, 

Just as all true husbands should. 

He well had learned in sorrow's school 

That trusting fate was as a rule 

A waste of time that comes to naught, 

That bread is not by waiting brought. 

"In fact," he said, "let birds be durned ; 

If we get bread it must be earned, 

And earned by me with honest work," 

That duty he would never shirk ; 

And since no work could he get here 

He'd go and seek it else somewhere ; 

So telling mamma not to cry. 

He kissed and bade us all good-bye. 

But hunger long had made him weak 

And robbed the color from his cheek ; 

Thus faint and weak he went away, 

And I and mother day by day 



209 



Waited trusting soon to hear 

From him, some news our hearts to cheer. 

But days went by, and when at length 

Poor mother, wasted of her strength 

Through grief and hunger, went to bed, 

I then was forced to beg for bread. 

What else was there for me to do. 

While mother daily weaker grew 

And needed me by her sick bed 

To bathe her hands and cool her head ? 

And oft so hungry I would feel 

That there beside her bed I'd kneel 

And pray to Him who reigns on high 

To let poor me and mamma die ; 

But God was good and willed it not 

That we should die, though sad our lot, 

And so we lived on day by day, 

No star of hope to send a ray 

To cheer us in our sad dismay 

With promise of a better day. 

Poor mother daily weaker grew, 

While her sad eyes of liquid blue 

Grew dim with weeping and with pain — 

With grieving and with longings vain 

For papa, who had not returned. 

And of whose death we had not learned. 

But by and by a letter came 

From place out west, just now the name 

I can't recall, but this it said. 

That my poor darling Pa was dead ; 

And while though far from home he died. 

That kindly friends were by his side 

And gave to him all needful care ; 

In fact, that he had brothers there 



2IO 



Who stayed beside him night and day 
Until his soul had passed away, 
Then gave him funeral honors such 
As for a Prince were not too much. 
The writer then went on to tell 
That he had known my papa well, 
Said they were brothers of a band — 
The noblest, greatest in the land, 
And said that Knights of Honor true 
Would come to see us and would do 
What e'er they could to cheer our grief — 
To comfort us and give relief. 
A few weeks later, three or four, 
We heard a knocking at the door. 
And opening it three men I met. 
Whose coming I will ne'er forget. 
They were so gentle and so kind ; 
So genteel, manly and refined. 
And talked so nicely all the while 
They even made poor mamma smile. 
And oh, it eased my hunger's pain 
To see poor mamma smile again. 
For she had been so long you know 
Bowed down by sickness, want and woe. 
So long since I had seen a trace 
Of pleasure in her pallid face, 
I scarcely could believe my eyes 
So great indeed was my surprise. 
Just what it was that made her smile 
I'll tell you in a little while. 
They said that they had come to bring 
The Knights of Honor's offering. 
Two thousand dollars in a pile — 
Yes, it was that which made her smile. 



211 



And now you all can plainly see 

I'm not so poor as I used to be ; 

My clothes are nice, my shoes are fine, 

And see my rings just how they shine; 

And when I walk out on the street 

I notice every boy I meet 

Gives a smiling glance at me, 

And I'm just happy as can be ; 

But I've determined in my mind, 

I'll never marry till I find 

A really handsome nice young man, 

Who is a member of the clan 

Of Knights of Honor, brave and true, 

Who duty knows and dares to do 

What is just, what e'er is right — 

As does each valiant worthy Knight. 

Yes, he who wins my heart and hand 

Must be a member of that Band 

Of Knights of Honor, generous, free. 

Just like my papa used to be. 



Zbc innfortunate'e pea 

Tho' clouds of adversity have darkened my life. 
And the star of my fate goes down in the strife ; 
Tho' my destiny yields me but troubles and care, 
And my poor aching heart is rent with despair — 
My lips to the struggles within shall be mute. 
And the shafts that are hurled my soul to confute 
Tho' striking their mark, the wounds I'll conceal, 
And bravely repress the anguish I feel. 

212 



Tho' my friends all forsake and the world doth 

condemn, 
Tho' my breast with its sorrow is full to the brim, 
Tho' my hopes are all blasted and my prospects 

are fled, 
Thank God for His strength ; my conscience, not 

dead, 
Still glows with its ardour for justice and right, 
And my soul still unawed by oppression and 

might, 
Bids a defiance to the wrath that is hurled, 
And gives scorn in return for the scorn of the 

world. 

Never my motives have been understood, 
Or else they have basely been misconstrued ; 
My actions suspected, my kindness abused, 
My sympathies spurned, my good will refused ; 
The serpent of slander hath traversed my fame, 
And his trail so polluting hath sullied my name ; 
But the 'lurements of creed, of power and gold, 
I've spurned from my breast like wolves from the 
fold. 

And never will I while on earth I remain 
Seek from the world its plaudits to gain. 
Nor bow to the shrines of fashion and pride. 
Nor steer my course with the popular tide ; 
For policy's rule, and bigotry's reign, 
Awake in my soul its deepest disdain, 
And I turn in my loathing of hate and disgust 
From the soulless throngs, so false and unjust. 



213 



They boast of religion and love for mankind, 
But damning a man for the bent of his mind, 
Cry infidel, heretic, knave and fool, 
To all who refuse their shackles and rule ; 
Dissenters they place on Procrustean bed 
And shorten their limb or sever their head. 
Or lengthen them out by chains and by screws, 
Thus making them gauge to their orthodox views. 

Fraud and chicanery in politics rule. 
And the greater the knave, the better the tool ; 
And if he, in fraud, ignore the just laws, 
The louder will be the acclaim of applause. 
Thus goes the world with popular sway. 
Vice is triumphant and justice gives way. 
And judges in ermine their benches disgrace, 
Whilst the people are taxed to keep them in place. 

'Tis ever the same, in state and in church, 
When charity's wanted 'tis found in the lurch ; 
Religion and freedom exists but in name. 
They both have their riders and have a like aim. 
'Tis self-aggrandizement, wealth, power and fame. 
And the means they pursue the devil would 

shame ; 
But to be not aboard with the popular tide 
Is to have them abuse and your conscience deride. 

But why should I sigh, or my race execrate, 

When God is supreme over church and the state, 

And sooner or later will his vengeance be hurled 

To right all the wrongs and sins of the world. 

Yes, soon or late, with Him must abide 

The judgment of all of whatever side; 

Then the weak shall go up and the strong shall 

come down 
And justice shall wear the laurel and crown. 

214 



Yes, life is but transient and short at the best, 
And beyond the dark grave is the haven of rest ; 
And there shall my spirit, when its trials are done, 
Mount to the throne my conscience hath won. 
And receive from my God, for whom I have 

wrought. 
The palms and the crown for the battles I've 

fought, 
And folding my pinions, forever I'll rest 
In the mansions prepared for the weak and 

oppressed. 



^be Cranfi 

Let poets sing of priest or king. 

And prate of warriors great, 
Or praise in verse the men who curse 

Our land in halls of state, 
No little lord nor man of sword, 

Nor statesman need me thank ; 
My muse I'll ask a nobler task — 

To sing of the humble crank. 

First in the fight for all that's right 

A trenchant sword he wields. 
And undismayed his flashing blade 

Leads on to glorious fields ; 
Altho' unknown he toils alone, 

Without reward or thank. 
Of blessings rare our greatest are 

First from some humble crank. 



215 



Galileo was, well we know, 

A star-crazed crank at best, 
Tho' first he found this earth was round, 

And thus his millions blest. 
Columbus, too, the brave and true. 

Colossal crank was he, 
Was first in mind a world to find 

Which lay beyond the sea. 

Old Harvey, too, with genius true, 

Whose crank-won inspiration 
Discerned the course from cardie source 

Of sanguine circulation. 
And Jenner great, let's not forget. 

Who taught us vaccination, 
Was but a crank of highest rank 

Who blessed our whole creation. 

But should I name each crank of fame 

And tell of all they've done, 
A story bright I would indite 

Of all earth's victories won. 
Then here's to cranks, aliens or Yanks, 

No matter what their birth — 
To them I'll sing with honest ring, 

They are the gods of earth. 



216 



®ur Sunni? Xanb anb Soutbern 2)eab 

Fair sunny land — home of the brave — 

How wondrous and supremely blest ! 
Like billows on tempestuous sea, 

Emotions rise within my breast, 
And surging with a pathos deep 

Sweep o'er my soul in currents grand 
When e'er I hear or breathe thy name. 

Sweet sunny South, my native land. 

What other land 'neath Heaven's dome 

By braver men was ever trod ? 
What other land on earth is known 

So lavishly endowed of God? 
Where else on earth such valorous deeds 

As by our Southern patriots done, 
And where, oh where such women true. 

As here beneath our Southern sun ? 

Then wake ! oh, wake ! my muse awake ! 

A glorious theme my soul inspires ; 
From blue empyrean heights above 

Come warm me with celestial fires. 
Attune my tongue to grandeur's strain. 

And let my words with genius blaze. 
Whilst I the glorious task essay — 

Our martyred Southern hosts to praise. 



217 



But no, ah, no ! the plea is vain. 

No human tongue in words can frame. 
Nor wreathe in thoughts however bright 

The measure of their deathless fame. 
But everywhere on earth and sea, 

Where'er a patriot's heart shall beat. 
The welkin with their praise shall ring 

Till eternity and time shall meet. 

But till some nobler muse than mine, 

Evoked by greater bard than I, 
And aided by a power divine. 

From bright supernal realms on high. 
Shall grasp the poet's flaming pen 

With superhuman force to write, 
Be mine the will if not the power 

Their glorious records to recite. 

And yet tho' frail and halt of speech, 

An humble chaplet I would weave 
To place upon our soldiers' graves, 

And grandeur's task to others leave ; 
For well I know some noble bard, 

Some poet greater far than I, 
Shall yet arise and grandly sing 

Of those who sleep, but cannot die. 

And till the cycling years of time 

Have into dark oblivion rolled 
All love of home and native land, 

Their valorous deeds shall still be told ; 
And yearning youth at mother's knee 

Shall, in the ages yet to be, 
By grand example of their deeds 

Learn how to die for liberty. 

218 



Thermopylae and Marathon 

For ages held the captive eye 
Of all who looked for honored fields, 

Where men had taught us how to die; 
But now the gaze of all mankind, 

Who seek for glory's proudest shrines, 
Must turn to Sumter and Bull Run, 

To Gettysburg and Seven Pines. 

Alexander and the Csesars great 

Long held the crown of proudest fame ; 
But lusterless their crowns appear 

Dimmed in the light of him I name — 
Of him whose hand ne'er sought to hold 

The sceptre over men yet free, 
For now Fame's brightest shining gem 

Beams in the crown of Robert Lee. 

Joan of Arc, the martial queen, 

Led forth her ranks in grand array, 
And carved her name on fame's proud fane 

By valorous deeds in battle fray ; 
But grander than her grandest march 

Is that by Southern women led, 
When marching with spring garlands bright 

To deck the graves of Southern dead. 

And grander than all cenotaphs 

That ever hand of mortal reared ; 
More brilliant than all banners dear 

That ever on the breeze appeared ; 
More beautiful than brightest stars 

That shine in vaulted dome of night 
Are those bright tears which beauty sheds 

For those who fought for home and right. 

219 



Nor will they as they come today, 

With evergreens and brightest blooms, 
To decorate with tender care 

Our sleeping heroes' silent tombs, 
Forget or slight those foeman brave 

Who proved through flame their courage true, 
But true to Southern chivalry, 

With flowers rare their graves will strew. 

And you, ye war-scarred remnant brave, 

Who loved the cause our Davis led. 
Will ne'er forget sweet Winnie dear 

Now that her noble sire is dead. 
And every weeping orphan's tear. 

And every widow's plaintive plea, 
Will wake a warm, responsive chord 

In every heart of Camp Hardee. 

And in that last great coming morn. 

When God shall bid all sleepers rise 
From earth and seas to camps on high, 

Joined heart and hand beyond the skies. 
In armistice of eternal peace, 

We'll bivouac amid the stars, 
And reverence through eternity 

The stars and stripes and stars and bars. 



220 



XCill II Come Bacft again 

No, I'll not forget you, darling, 

Though roaming far away, 
Your loving smile shall light my path 

Wherever I may stray; 
And every loving word of thine 

Shall e'er with me remain. 
And banish every gloomy thought 

Till I come back again. 

The many happy days with you 

Were all too quickly passed. 
They were so full of blissful joy 

I knew they could not last ; 
But in my heart a star of hope 

Shines not, I trust in vain. 
And by its light I'll steer my course 

Till I come back again. 

In lands afar beyond the sea 

My fate may be to roam. 
And weeks and months and years may pass 

Ere I turn back to home ; 
But thy bright face in memory set 

Shall never dim nor wane, 
Or lose its charm to light my soul 

Till I come back again. 

'Tis only for your sake, my dear, 

That I must leave you now, 
So let me kiss and clear away 

The clouds upon your brow ; 
Then with your blessing let me go. 

Stern fortune's smile to gain. 
And vow once more you'll constant prove 

Till I come back again, 
2ai 



Then should misfortune overtake 

And pall me with dismay, 
This thought a talisman shall be 

To break all evil's sway. 
It is your promise to be mine, 

Which like some sweet refrain 
Will ever echo in my heart 

Till I come back again. 

Now, au revoir, but not farewell, 

With one last kiss of love, 
To be a seal upon the vow 

That you will constant prove, 
And that no other loving swain 

Shall in your heart obtain 
The place that I so fondly claim 

Till I come back again. 



Slanberera of (Bor5on 

(Written when Gordon was candidate for Governor.) 

I can't but feel within me rise 

A deep indignant flame 
When e'er I hear ungrateful tongue 

Dare to assail the name 
Of him to whom we are endeared 

By every sacred tie — 
Of him to whom 'twere pleasure yet 

To follow and to die. 

222 



For, oh, I loathe, despise and hate 

The poltroon and the knave, 
Who, serpent-like, will turn and strike 

The hand once stretched to save. 
Oh yes, oh yes, ingratitude. 

Of all man's sins the worst. 
If there be deeper hells than hell, 

May it be deepest curst. 

Who but the bribe-bought ruffians 

And self-ignobling clan 
Would so disgrace our noble State 

By slandering such a man ? 
A man whose great, chivalrous heart 

Ne'er hath a pulsing throb 
That does not beat for fellow-man. 

For country and for God. 

Go to the hundred battle-fields 

Where he has bravely stood. 
And where, eight times upon their plains, 

He poured his manly blood — 
Go ask of those historic grounds. 

Both vale and riverside, 
If ever duty called to him 

And he the call denied. 

And ask you, too, of those who stood 

Beside him on the fields, 
If ever once he turned to foes 

And showed his back or heels. 
And ask of those who faced him there, 

Those heroes of the blue, 
And let him answer, him who dare, 

To say he was untrue. 

223 



Then, when the storm of war had passed 

And all our hopes were riven, 
When satraps, with their bayonets 

(May they be cursed of Heaven), 
Put alien thieves and scalawags 

To rule and rob our State — 
Who was it then who led the van 

To shield us from that fate ? 

Oh, 'twas that matchless, God-like man. 

That Christian soldier brave, 
The statesman and philanthropist 

Whom God in goodness gave 
To point the way of patriots 

Who seek the prize of fame. 
And bless us with the heritage 

Of one bright, spotless name. 

Then, hark ! ye miscreants and knaves, 

Your lying tongues be stilled. 
For every Southern patriot 

With more than scorn is filled. 
And hark ye, too, there is a God 

That's ruling overhead, 
And hush, lest Ananias-like, 

That God may strike you dead. 



224 



* 



"Lord, how long shall I have to wait 

Before I cross the river ?" 
I long to reach that other shore, 

Where I can rest forever. 

My journey, Lord, has been so long, 

Life's wilderness so dreary ; 
My burden's been so hard to bear ; 

My soul, is faint and weary. 

Then haste, O Lord, to speak the word, 

And bid my waiting cease, 
I fain would leave this dreary shore. 

And reach the land of peace. 

Whilst here I wait, O Lord, I bear 
Most poignant griefs and pain. 

My weary soul now turns to thee, 
And pleads that land to gain. 

'Tis dark and chilly on this shore. 

But over the stream I see 
The sun still shining warm and bright, 

Where loved ones wait for me. 

My heart, O Lord, has long been there. 

With all I love the best ; 
Oh, send thy angels, precious Lord, 

And lead me to my rest. 



*Almost the last words of my aged father, Rev. Dr. T. H. Dozier, 
while on his dying bed, were: "Oh, Lord, how long shall I have to 
wait before I cross the river?" 

225 



My father's face I long to see, 

My saintly mother's, too, 
And many children gone before, 

O Lord, are there with you. 

Do, precious Saviour, haste to speak. 

And bid me now to come, 
And join the bright celestial band 

In my eternal home. 



''®ur ©rber 1bere'' 

PERORATION IN RESPONSE TO A TOAST 

But I forget. 'Tis not of our fair city and her 
matchless wealth, by lavish hand of God 
bestowed, that I would speak. 

But 'tis of something nobler far — 

A jewel bright — a shining star — 

The brightest gem which decks her brow. 

Is that which I would champion now. 

But should I speak, as well I might. 

Of furnaces whose fires bright 

Make noonday of our darkest night 

And paint the skies with lurid light ; 

Or tell how wondrous here combine 

The wealth of coal and iron mine, 

And how our manufactures great 

The riches bring from every State; 

Or, boastful, tell in wondrous tale 

The matchless glories of this vale, 

Your pardon just I might receive, 

Tho' some, perchance, would scarce believe, 

226 



For such the story 'twould but seem 
Like fiction or a summer's dream. 
But, as I said, 'tis not of these 
I'll speak my hearers now to please. 
A grander theme my soul inspires 
And warms me with ennobling fires — ^ 
My theme is of our order grand, 
The noblest in this glorious land. 
And tho' our members are but few, 
Each Knight is valiant, brave and true, 
And counts but wasted every sun 
Which sees not some good action done, 
Some noble act or generous deed 
In keeping with our Order's creed, 
For Knights of Honor ever hold 
Kind actions more than finest gold. 
To shield the widows and provide 
For orphans is our greatest pride ; 
To raise the fallen, help the weak. 
And dry the tear on mourner's cheek ; 
To help our brothers in distress, 
And ev'ry home we enter, bless ; 
To carry sunshine and relief 
Wherever hang the clouds of grief. 
Reviving hope and stilling fear. 
These are our daily missions here. 
To sit beside the bed of pain 
When fever burns a brother's brain, 
And nurse him back to health again. 
From works like these we ne'er refrain. 
And when our great dictator, God, 
Bids brother Knight pass 'neath the rod 
And enter that grand lodge on high, — 
The lodge supreme, above the sky, — 



2.2 



7 



We fold his hands upon his breast, 

And when his corpse with prayers we've blest, 

We give him cortege to the grave 

And there with tears his dust we lave, 

And flowers strew upon his bier ; 

I speak this, of our Order here. 



fiDourn, (Beorgia, flDourn 

(Written during Gen. Gordon's campaign for Governor.) 

Mourn, Georgia, mourn, my native State, 
Sad seems, indeed, thy bitter fate ; 
Thy banner proud that never trailed. 
By demagogues is now assailed, 
And thy bright star of rising fame 
Seems doomed at last to set in shame. 

Thou hast before been sore distressed, 
When alien foes thy strength suppressed, 
And held thee dowm 'neath tyrant heel. 
Whilst scalawags could rob and steal ; 
But tyrant's hate and heels to crush 
Could never give thee cause to blush. 

Unhappy then as was thy curse. 
Thy bitter fate must now be worse — 
To feel the shame, to see and know 
'Tis thy own sons inflict thy woe ; 
That they who, nurtured on thy soil, 
Now robber-like would thee despoil. 

228 



Hear now that mob in scorn deride 
Thy patriots and thy men of pride. 
Whom they have dragged with malice vile 
From seats w^hich chumps will now defile- 
From places high which gave thee fame, 
Which now, alas, must bring thee shame. 

But hear me, O fair Georgia, hark ! 
There yet remains one man of mark, 
Whose hand thy honor yet might save. 
He is that patriot — Gordon — ^brave, 
Spurn not his proffer, ere too late 
In sackcloth thou shalt mourn thy fate. 



flD? Xo0abatcbie Home* 

In these days of awful panics 

( Strikes are heard of everywhere) , 
While Congress sits and piddles. 

And starvation seems to stare, 
When all business goes to pieces, 

And the devil's on a tear, 
In vain I long for refuge 

From my troubles and my care. 



*Losahatchie is the name of a beautiful mountain stream In 
North Alabama. 



229 



And my heart is filled with longing 

For that dear old mountain stream, 
Losahatchie, on whose surface, 

Like a vision in a dream, 
I can always see reflected 

Mount Coloma's rugged dome. 
And the little vine-clad cottage 

That I used to call my home. 

Even now in heart I'm longing 

To go back there once more, 
And with line and pole to wander 

Along its shady shore. 
Where, as a careless, barefoot boy, 

I once was wont to roam. 
When life was free from sorrow. 

In my Losahatchie home. 

Yes, my dear old Losahatchie ! 

Since I wandered from thy shore 
The world has not all seemed to be 

What I dreamed in days of yore. 
And thy cooling shades and fountains. 

And thy vales of fertile loam 
Now fill my soul with longing 

For my Losahatchie home. 

Yes, yes, O Losahatchie! 

Thou queen of mountain streams. 
How often have I sought thee 

In my nightly troubled dreams. 
To lave my fevered temples 

In thy cooling spray and foam, 
'Neath the spreading beech and maples. 

At my Losahatchie home. 

230 



In a deep, unbroken forest, beside a flowing 

stream, 
I laid me down one afternoon, and, sleeping, had 

a dream ; 
The pearly gates of paradise were open to my 

view. 
And I saw therein the faces that once on earth I 

knew. 

No jeweled king or beaded priest did there my 
vision trace. 

No warrior with his sword and plume, with epau- 
lets and lace ; 

No tattered coat on pauper's back, no miser with 
his gold. 

Nor any sign of earthly pomp did I therein behold. 

But every one was robed alike, both of great and 

lowly birth — 
Only crowns of different lustre told their stage of 

virtuous worth ; 
And those who had ten talents sat nearer to the 

throne 
Than did the more unfortunates, who never had 

but one. 

For in Heaven, as on earth, talents supremely 

reign, 
For God loves wisdom better than He does a 

shallow brain ; 
And according as the talents are improved, which 

he has given. 
So must be their lot and rank with the angel hosts 

of Heaven. 

231 



Some brighter far than others shone, but all were 

bright with grace, 
No cloud of grief on any brow could there my 

vision trace; 
I saw the Christian and the Jew, united hand in 

hand. 
Dwelling in unbroken peace in that celestial land. 

I saw distinctive features of every human race, 
And types of every nation in that sweet, holy 

place ; 
Yes, there were men of every tribe, of every rank 

and creed, 
Whose tasks on earth had been to do their great 

Creator's meed. 

I saw the wild barbarian, and the untaught 

heathen there. 
Who were not saved by water, by crucifix nor 

prayer ; 
All dwelt in peace together, from priestly hells 

apart. 
For God had known their talents, and judged 

them by the heart. 

In supremacy of justice, and in mercy's boundless 

sway, 
God, with love and charity, had swept their sins 

away. 
And there, in blissful union, where troubles ne'er 

appal. 
They praised the great Jehovah whose hand had 

saved them all. 



232 



Yes, He who made this world 'mid ten thousand 

worlds to roll, 
Whose hands created Heaven, and man with 

deathless soul. 
Who controls the mighty oceans which stretch 

from pole to pole, 
Never made or framed a creed to damn a human 

soul. 



flDemorial Dai? llnvocation 

Be pleased, O God ! to bless this day, 
And bless the tributes which we lay 

Upon the consecrated graves 
Of patriots who wore the gray. 

Quick to obey their country's call 
When tyrants threatened to enthrall. 

They rallied to the new-born flag, 
Ready in her defense to fall. 

For justice and for rights denied 
They met the raging battle's tide 

Which foeman waged against their land, 
And in her cause they nobly died. 

For native land they fought and bled, 
And better blood was never shed. 

Nor ever shed for better cause, 

Than was that of our Southern dead. 



223 



Nor ever yet for any land 

Was marshalled out a braver band, 
Than those who stood on Southern soil 

To battle for their native land. 



Melcome Song 

All hail ! Great Incohonee, 

Great Sachem, wise and true. 
Our warriors, braves, and chieftains 

Most gladly welcome you ; 
In Freedom and in Friendship 

United firm and strong. 
We gladly hail our chieftain 

With this our welcome song. 

CHORUS. 

Then welcome to our wigwam, 
Our hearts are warm and true ; 

Come share our corn and venison, 
And drink our skila-wa-boo. 

Within these fertile valleys. 

And on these verdant plains. 
The tomahawk we've buried 

And peace and plenty reigns. 
Our trails but lead to pleasure. 

No war-whoop here resounds. 
And now we bid you welcome 

To these our hunting grounds. 



234 



CHORUS. 

Then welcome to our wigwam, 
Our hearts are warm and true ; 

Come share our corn and venison, 
And drink our skila-wa-boo. 

Our hunters are the truest 

That ever grasped a bow. 
Our warriors are the bravest 

That ever faced a foe. 
Our squaws and papooses, 

And all our maidens bright. 
Will hail you, Incohonee, 

With rapture and delight. 

CHORUS. 

Then welcome to our wigwam. 
Our hearts are warm and true ; 

Come share our corn and venison, 
And drink our skila-wa-boo. 



a Dream tbat Maa mot HIl a Dream 

Beside my sweet darling's grave in the city of the 

dead, 
I sat until the sinking sun's last ray of light had 

fled; 
And all alone, I heeded not the ebbing of the day, 
For my heart was in the grave, and my thoughts 

were far away. 

235 



One by one the little stars came forth, twinkling 
overhead, 

Until the whole of heaven was with beauty over- 
spread ; 

The moon then, like a silver ship, came mounting 
up above, 

And floated gently onward, as if moved by hands 
of love. 

Bright flowers, blooming round me, lent a sweet- 
ness to the air. 

But I heeded not their fragrance, nor noticed they 
were there ; 

And there beside the grave, while silence reigned 
supreme, 

Q'ercome at last by weeping, I slept and had a 
dream. 

I saw the heavens part — heard a sound of thunder 

loud. 
Then saw descending earthward a shining silver 

cloud ; 
And reclining on that cloud, with bright angels 

by her side, 
I recognized my darling, my sweet angelic bride. 

And as the cloud came slowly down, such music 

filled my ears 
As I never, never heard before upon this vale of 

tears ; 
And when it came to where I was it seemed there 

to divide, 
And my sweet, angelic darling was sitting by my 

side. 

236 



Around her forehead twined a wreath of softest 
glowing light, 

And the raiment that she wore was a robe of spot- 
less white ; 

Halos of radiant light all round about us shone, 

And the music of her voice was like the zithern's 
sweetest tone. 

She told me of a place above, a happy spirit-land, 
Where everything is beautiful, majestical and 

grand ; 
Where the God of nature sits on a glory beaming 

throne. 
Where life is life eternal, and where sorrow is 

unknown. 

She told me of friends and kindred all dwelling 

there above, 
And from each she brought a message to remind 

me of their love ; 
Then bidding me good-bye, said she'd wait me on 

the shore 
Of that bright land celestial where there's parting 

never more. 

Then on that cloud I saw her take a gentle, 
upward flight. 

And watching till she reached the sky, she van- 
ished from my sight ; 

And tho' I know 'twas but a dream, a delusion of 
the brain, 

I cannot yet help wishing she may come in dreams 
again. 



237 



Blitbe0ome little Xibb? 

Pretty little skating girl, 
Fairest in the mazy whirl, 
Winsome, charming, and as fair 
And graceful as a bird of air — 
Blithesome little Libby. 

Pretty little skating belle, 
Playful as a young gazelle, 
Brightly beams her hazel eyes 
As around the rink she flies — 
Blithesome little Libby. 

Pretty little skating queen, 
Fairer form was never seen, 
Like a vision in a dream 
Memories of her doth seem — 
Blithesome little Libby. 



forget flDe mot 

Forget me not whilst memory's chain 
Holds sacred, firm and true, 

Nor let thy heart be steeped in pain 
If I can bear its pain for you. 

Forget me not whilst in thy heart 
Thy life's blood ebbs and flows, 

Nor let from me thy faith depart — 
Forbid me not to share thy woes. 

238 



Forget me not where'er thou be, 

Whatsoever fate be thine, 
On desert's shore or lonely sea, 

Remember, love, that I am thine. 

Forget me not when shades of death 
Shall dwell upon thy breast. 

But with thy last departing breath 
Remember me who loved thee best. 



H fragment 

Let angels that hover around us in air, 

Keeping record of joys that bloom in the heart, 
Proclaim from their tablets the dearest joy there. 

And in whispers of spirit we'll hear them 
impart ; 
It is the sweet pleasure when exiles we roam 

Of knowing that loved ones remember us still — 
That dear ones we've left behind us at home 

Let thoughts of ourselves their memories fill. 



239 



Club Sona IRo- I 

(Air — Bonnie Blue Flag.) 

We are a band of patriots, 

United heart and hand, 
To shield the honor of our race 

In this our glorious land. 
The blood that flows within our veins 

We never will disgrace 
By sharing our heritage 

With earth's ignoble race. 

CHORUS. 

Then rouse ! arouse ! 

Let white men all arouse ! 
Maintaining white supremacy. 

The cause which we espouse. 

By laws divine, the right to rule 

This white man's land we claim, 
And true to our Caucasian blood 

We'll not submit to shame ; 
Nor will we e'er in peace submit 

To laws which stultify, 
But, in the majesty of right, 

We'll rule this land or die. 

CHORUS. 

Then rouse! arouse! 

Let white men all arouse ! 
Maintaining white supremacy, 

The cause which we espouse. 



240 



Club Sono mo. 2 

(Air — America.) 

My comrades, true and brave, 
This land our fathers gave 

To us alone ; 
Unsullied, pure and bright, 
No shame our flag shall blight, 
And we will in our might 

Defend our own. 

Lift up your shields, my braves ; 
Think of those honored graves 

Your fathers fill. 
Think of your honored line. 
Think of your rights divine 
To shield sweet freedom's shrine, 

And swear you will. 

Men of Caucasian birth. 
Regents of all the earth 

United stand. 
Sharing each other's care. 
Shielding our women fair — 
Be this thy daily prayer: 

God bless our land. 



241 



Glut) Qom IWo. 3 

(Air — Greenland's Icy Mountains.) 

From golden California 

To rocky coast of Maine, 
From gulf-washed Alabama 

To farthest Northern plain, 
True patriotic white men 

Are rising in their might, 
For law and white supremacy, 

For God, and for the right. 

Then welcome, stranger, welcome. 

We hail you as a friend ; 
Come join our ranks and help us 

To shield and to defend 
Our homes and women's honor, 

Our nation's flag and laws, 
And God will keep and bless you — 

For sacred is our cause. 

Nor will we, free-born Regents 

Of Anglo-Saxon race. 
Ere bow in weak submission 

Or yield to such disgrace 
As ever to surrender 

The right to rule this land ; 
But true to God and country 

United we will stand. 



242 



Club Song IRo* 4 

(Air — Old Lang Syne.) 

Good night ! Good night ! Taps now resound, 

May guardian angels keep 
A faithful watch by every couch 

Where comrades fall asleep. 

And when at dawn of rosy morn 

The birds sing reveille, 
Let every Regent don his crown 

Of white supremacy. 

Let noble deeds of comrades true 

A shield unto us be, 
And true to our just cause and God, 

We'll rule the land and sea. 



^0 Xt33ie 

Thy pretty face, 

Thy lovely grace, 
And all thy winsome charms. 

With cunning art 

Allures my heart, 
And all my hope alarms. 

Thy lovely smiles, 

Thy playful wiles, 
And thy coquettish airs, 

Entrance my eyes. 

Awake my sighs. 
And fill my breast with cares. 

243 



Thy silvery voice, 

Thy words so choice, 
When ringing out in songs, 

Break on my ear. 

So sweetly, dear, 
My heart their joys prolongs. 



Ikicftere 

Some folks are born f er kicking 
An' seem tu kick fer fun ; 

Dey'll kick er man fer standin' still, 
Den kick if he should run. 

Dey'll kick at ebrything dat's good. 
An' kick at what is bad ; 

Dey'll kick er man fer havin' fun. 
Den kick if he gits mad. 

Dey kick in winter's ca'se its cold. 
In summer 'ca'se its hot ; 

Dey kick at things dey never knew. 
And kick at things forgot. 

Yer can allers find dese kickers 

At ebry place yer go ; 
Yer'll find dem in de meetin' house 

An' find dem at de show. 

Dey is sometimes in de pulpit. 
An' sometimes in de pew; 

But yer'll allers find em kickin' 
At ebrything yer do, 

344 



Yer will find 'em 'bout de hotels. 
An' in de railroad trains ; 

But yer'U never find er kicker 
Who's overstock'd wid brains. 

An' yer'll notice by obsarvin' 

A mighty sartin rule, 
Dat de loudest talkin' kicker 

Am de shabbiest little fool. 

An' you who's fond ob smokin' 
May put dis in yer pipe, 

Dat er kicker am er greener 
Who's seldom ober-ripe. 

Fer ebrything but kickin' 
And fer actin' ob de fool, 

An' is much more like er donkey 
Dan er boss is like er mule. 

An' yer cannot help concludin', 
If yer watch dese kickers right, 

Dat dey's er breed ob donkeys 
Wid er gall dat's out ob sight. 

An' yer'll also find by watchin' 

Anudder rule ter fit, 
Dat kickers am too cowardly 

Ter face er man ob grit. 

An' now befo' concludin' 
Ob what I'se had ter say, 

I wants ter tell de critics 

Just ter bray an' kick er way 

245 



At anything dey may dislike 
Ob what dese lines contains, 

Fer dey wasn't writ ter fertilize 
Dere unproductive brains. 

An' I don't care one fiddlestick 
For what all kickers say, 

I've got my pay fer writing it, 
So let 'em kick and bray. 



Ibail, St lpatricft'0 Dap 

Hail ! all hail, St. Patrick's day ! 

And hail to Erin's glory, 
A matchless land of heroes grand. 

Who live in song and story. 
Oh, patron saint of wondrous land, 

Thy name shall be immortal, 
And light the way through endless day 

To Heaven's blessed portal. 

Oh, sainted man of wondrous mind, 

Filled with inspiration. 
By Heaven lent and Heaven sent. 

To civilize a nation. 
And where on earth is there a land 

Today that does not claim 
On history's page some saint or sage — 

Some glorious Irish name ? 

246 



And hail ! all hail ! to that green flag, 

Old Erin's sacred treasure ; 
A thousand years through strife and tears 

And bloodshed without measure, 
It floats today without a stain. 

An alien though it be, 
A tale to tell of freedom's knell, 

As doth the flasr of Lee. 



"-fc> 



Yes, hail ! all hail ! to Erin's flag, 

Exiled though now it be. 
In other climes and other times 

That flag shall yet be free, 
And float as proudly to the breeze 

As when unfurled of yore. 
For Fates decree it shall be free 

And float for evermore! 

Then hark ! oh, hark, ye Irish sons ! 

Behold your country bleeding. 
While saints above and sires you love 

With you her cause are pleading, 
And bid you, by the sacred ties 

Of all that's dear on earth. 
To break in twain the tyrant's chain, 

And free your land of birth. 

Then grasp, oh, grasp the glorious flag 

That bears no blot of shame. 
And swear by love of God above 

And by St. Patrick's name, 
That you will ne'er forsake its cause 

Till it in triumph waves, 
That o'er the foam you'll bear it home, 

Or bear it to your graves. 

247 



IHo Compromlae for (tie 

Talk not to me of compromise, 

I loathe, I hate the very word ; 
It is the strongest arm of him 

By whom the fires of hell are stirred. 
Old Satan never smiles so bright. 

Nor darker gloam the frowning skies, 
Than when men split the right in twain 

And call that action "compromise." 

What, tho' my cause shall ne'er prevail 

I still can bravely bear defeat, 
A victor's crown I'd scorn to wear 

If I must stoop that crown to greet. 
No, let me live and let me die 

In conscious practice of the right. 
My soul unsullied by my vote. 

No act of mine a home to blight. 

What e'er is right must right remain, 

What e'er is wrong must still so be, 
No policy for sake of gain 

Can make the right with wrong agree. 
Then be your license high or low. 

Your whiskey dens are still the same, 
Like whited sepulchres without. 

Within there's naught but death and shame. 

Tho' dastard dotards humbly bow. 

And bend the weak, the suppliant knee; 
Tho' coward cravens cry for peace 

And talk to me of policy, 
I yield to nothing short of truth. 

No sort of compromise I take ; 
I dare to stand up for the right, 

Tho' cravens all the right forsake. 

248 



And as for me and for my house, 

What ever lot the fates may plan, 
Unmoved, unchanged, unconquered still. 

With love for God and fellow-man, 
We stand resolved to never yield. 

Nor cease to work, nor cease to fight, 
Till gloriously we've won the field 

For God, for justice, and for right. 



Cuban Bale, fair Cuban llele* 

Air — "Maryland, My Maryland." 

The Spaniard's foot is on thy soil, 

Cuban Isle, Fair Cuban Isle; 
Let not oppression longer spoil, 

Cuban Isle, Fair Cuban Isle. 
We'll right the wrong of gory stain 

That rests upon the gallant Maine; 
Our martyred dead died not in vain, 

Cuban Isle, Fair Cuban Isle. 

For though we would not strike for gain, 

Cuban Isle, Fair Cuban Isle, 
The starving shall not plead in vain, 

Cuban Isle, Fair Cuban Isle. 
When Spaniards meet us in the field 

Our country's flag your rights will shield. 
And thou shalt not to tyrants yield, 

Cuban Isle, Fair Cuban Isle. 



•Written for and sung by a young lady on the occasion of a 
grand public meeting arranged for the purpose of arousing a 
patriotic enthusiasm for Cuban freedom at the hands of sympa- 
thizing Americans. 

249 



No longer yield the tyrant's toll, 

Cuban Isle, Fair Cuban Isle; 
Thou shalt not bend to his control, 

Cuban Isle, Fair Cuban Isle. 
America thy suff'ring sees, 

And in her might she nov/ decrees 
Thy freedom. Queen of Antilles, 

Cuban Isle, Fair Cuban Isle. 

When thou shalt hear our cannon's roar, 

Cuban Isle, Fair Cuban Isle, 
Thy suff'ring then will soon be o'er, 

Cuban Isle, Fair Cuban Isle. 
Behold our ships are at thy door 

To drive the tyrant from thy shore 
And grant thee freedom evermore, 

Cuban Isle, Fair Cuban Isle. 



Zhc Deatb of Hbrnlral Semmee 

Another gallant chieftain 

Of the grand heroic band 
Who, in the cause of freedom. 

For our bless'd Southern land. 
Stemmed the tide of battle. 

And won a world's renown. 
Has doffed his earthly laurels 

For Heaven's brighter crown. 



250 



My pen Is too unworthy 

To eulogize his name, 
For "earth's remotest nations" 

Are familiar with his fame. 
His grand heroic deeds 

Upon the rolling sea 
Have made his name immortal 

As that of Robert Lee. 

And the waves of old Atlantic, 

As they break upon the shore, 
Will sing in loudest praises 

His name for evermore ; 
And the proud unfettered winds, 

As they sweep from pole to pole. 
Will chant in mournful dirges, 

A requiem to his soul. 

While his bright and faithful sword. 

That could but brook defeat. 
Will shine beneath the deep 

In its silent, safe retreat. 
And there 'twill rest forever, 

Without a blot or stain, 
The peerless gem of gems 

That decks old Ocean's main. 



251 



^bc (Ballant llmmunea 

(Inscribed to the men of the Fifth Regiment, United States Vol- 
unteer Infantry, when on their way ro Cuba.) 

Out now Upon the ocean wave 

Beneath the spreading sail, 
Speed on the gallant, noble braves, 

With hearts that never quail ; 
Enough to know their country calls 

And proudly they obey, 
Nor pestilence nor leaden balls 

Can daunt them nor dismay. 

True heroes, each with willing heart, 

A soldier's lot to share, 
For country's weal, to do his part, 

No matter when or where. 
If 'neath the burning tropic sun 

There lurks his country's foe, 
He questions not, nor seeks to shun 

When duty bids him go. 

Their country's flag they proudly bear 

To fields of victory new, 
And sternly swear to keep it there 

Whatever dangers brew ; 
Their nation's honor, theirs to keep. 

And they will guard it well, 
E'en tho' simoons around them sweep, 

Or surge the fiends of hell. 



252 



Zhc (Buitar 

I 'member way back long ago, 

'Fore de Yankees sot us free, 
A nigger wid an old banjo 

Was happy as could be; • 
But looking back to dem ole times, 

Way back befo' de war, 
I wonder how dem niggers did 

Widout a light guitar. 

Wid rattle bones and ole banjo 

Dey used to play and sing. 
And dance befo' de cabin do'. 

And cut de pigeon wing ; 
But dem ole days am pass and gone, 

De banjo ain't nowhar; 
De niggers nov/ mus' put on airs 

And pick de light guitar. 

Dese am de hallelujah times, 

Our work am turned to play ; 
We ain't got nuffin' else to do 

But frolic night and day; 
Our corn-field hands are turned to dudes, 

De wash-women "ladies" are, 
De banjo it am laid aside, 

While we pick de light guitar. 

Each nigger in de barber shop. 

And ebery hotel coon 
Is trumming on de light guitar. 

And trying to play er tune ; 
But by and by dem kinkey heads 

Will be hustled on de kyars 
And bundled off to Mexico, 

Along wid dere guitars. 
?53 



For white folks now am gittin' tired 

Ob sich hyfalutin' style, 
An' v/hen dere patience gits threadbare 

Dere blood am gwine ter bile ; 
And if dem kinkey-headed coons 

Keeps on wid sich fool airs, 
Dey'll land in h — 1 or Mexico, 

Erlong wid dere guitars. 



Xife 

The dew which comes with stars of night 
To glisten in the morning's light, 
An hour sparkles on the grass, 
And then doth into vapor pass. 

The flowers which in the morning bloom 
And lade the air with sweet perfume, 
Live not to see the close of day, 
They lose their charms and pass away. 

The bright rainbow which spans the sky, 
Like an arch of gold on high, 
A moment lingers to our view 
And bids us then a slow adieu. 

The snow which falls with bounteous flake 
Upon the bosom of the lake, 
Quick disappears and leaves no trace 
Of its ephemeral resting-place. 



254 



And these are all mere types of life 
In this dark world of toil and strife ; 
One day we're born, the next we die, 
And then within the dust we lie. 

But oh, how sweet to feel and know 
That death is but an end of woe; 
For tho' we die upon this earth, 
Our souls will have a happier birth. 



flDi2 Xlfe 1l0 Xifte a Sbip at Sea 

My life is like a ship at sea. 

That wrestles with the storm in vain, 
Which only mounts one rising swell 

To be cast down in gulfs again. 

My life is like a ship at sea. 

Which madly stems the driving blast, 
But far away from friendly port 

Is doomed to fail and sink at last. 

My life is like a ship at sea. 

With compass lost and shivered mast ; 
Tossed here and there upon the waves, 

A wreck that tells of tempests past. 

My life is like a ship at sea. 

That soon will sink 'neath the wave. 

And, sinking, leave no sign or trace 
Of its eternal resting grave. 



255 



H plea to flDa^or Xane 



(For the removal of a hand-organ nuisance.) 

Please, Mister Lane, do hear my plea 

And grant alleviation, 
I'm almost dead, my nerves unstrung, 

My soul's in desperation ; 
I've got the spancue and jimjams, 

My brain is worn to pieces 
By that infernal hurdy-gurdy 

Whose grinding never ceases. 

From early morn till late at night 

That cruel fiend's persistence 
In grinding doleful measures out. 

Makes life unworth existence. 
I cannot think, I cannot work, 

I scarce can get my breath ; 
Do dynamite the blasted thing 

Before it proves my death. 

Yes, Mister Mayor, heed my woe. 

And banish, by your orders. 
That curse-provoking, damned machine, 

Beyond earth's outer borders. 
Don't let it drive me on to drink 

To drown my wild despair. 
But choke it off and smash its lungs ; 

Oh, hear and grant my prayer. 



256 



Soutb IRome* 

South Rome, superb, thy mountains grand 
Around thee hke great sentinels stand, 
To keep and shield thee from alarm 
When storms arise and threaten harm ; 
And from their grand, majestic domes 
Look down on smiling, peaceful homes ; 
Whilst gushing fountains, pure and bright, 
Break from thy hills, and in the light 
Of sunbeams sparkling, ever sweet. 
Forever cool, doth lave thy feet 
And yield a glow to every cheek 
For those who come, sweet health to seek. 
But not alone thy lovely mountains. 
Crystal streams and sparkling fountains; 
These are not half the splendid charms 
Which thou claspest in thine arms ; 
But fairer far than Sharon's fields. 
And all the wealth Golconda yields ; 
More precious, too, than all the wine 
That e'er was brewed from luscious vine ; 
Yea, fairer far than India's pearls 
Thy greatest charm — thy pretty girls. 
God bless them, each and every one, 
No fairer dwell beneath the sun ; 
Then be thy boast thy daughters fair. 
Whose loveliness and beauty rare 
Beggars the power of pen to tell, 
Each one's a queen — a reigning belle, 
A sweet enchantress be it said, 
Whose footsteps bless the land they tread. 



'Rome, Ga. 

257 



3acft f ro0t 

Old Jack Frost has come, his footprints are seen 
O'er broad grassy plains that were lately so green, 
And, kissed by his lips, his cold icy breath 
Has left on the forests the shadows of death ; 
And the few gentle flowers yet left us in bloom 
Are drooping like angels knelt over a tomb. 
But the ripe, golden fruit which summer has left 
Requites us for all of its beauties bereft ; 
And this but illustrates a fact that I've seen. 
When loved ones have gone like the summer's 

bright green, 
They to Heaven may go, or to — just where you 

please, 
But the gold that they leave doth all sorrow 

appease. 

Xove 

AN ACROSTIC 

Love, oh, thou heart-consuming flame, 
Inspired not by wealth or fame, 
Zest of every noble claim. 
Zealous in thy boundless aim, 
Inspiration taught thy name, 
Eternal gods thy wealth proclaim. 

Purest type from Heaven's mold, 
On maiden's lips thou art extolled; 
Wisdom too thy precepts fold, 
Evinced through life's endearing hold. 
Rejected not by young or old — 
Sure all thy strength was never told. 

258 



(3oo&:*B?e Song to ff* X* Q. 

Good-bye, good-bye, dear friend, good-bye, 
God's blessings on thee we implore. 

And speak with a sigh, our parting good-bye. 
As you leave to meet us no more. 

Our joys and cares with us you've shared, 

Revealing a friendship sincere, 
And now as we part the grief in each heart 

Is shown in a shimmering tear. 

Warm in our minds we'll ever keep 
Your memory, so precious and dear, 

And time cannot change or ever estrange 
The love you have won from us here. 

Henceforth, afar from us you go. 

Your duteous paths to pursue. 
But oft in our eyes bright tears will arise 

As we think of your sad "Adieu." 

And now, good-bye, a last good-bye. 

Our hearts with sweet sympathy swell ; 

Our spirits grow weak, our lips fail to speak — 
Dear friend and companion, farewell. 



'Zie Zhcn II ^binft of l^ou 

When mock-birds chant their matin lay, 

And eastern sky's roseate hue 
Proclaims the dawning of the day, 

'Tis then — 'tis then I think of you. 



259 



And when at noontide's sultry hour 

The sky is one ethereal blue, 
And I have sought my shady bower, 

'Tis then — 'tis then I think of you. 

When night its starry robes reveal, 
And Heaven sheds its glist'ning dew; 

When silence o'er the world doth steal ; 
'Tis then — 'tis then I think of you. 

And when in sleep I chance to dream, 

And dream there's naught to cheer my view, 

Then, waking, see the moon's bright beam, 
'Tis then — 'tis then I think of you. 

And thus my joy in life shall be, 

Whilst memory's chain holds firm and true ; 
Altho' thy face no more I see, 

To sweetly — sweetly think of you. 



%incB to 3. %. Z. 

Oh, tell me not this lovely world 
Is all made up of vain deceit, 

That love is but a fickle charm. 

And friendship's nothing but a cheat. 

Nor tell me, yet, that man was made 
For naught but labor and for strife ; 

That he's deception in himself, 
And there's no constancy in life. 

260 



But rather tell me if you will 

That this strong body hath no soul, 

And that the God who made the world, 
Hath not, above it, all control. 

But speak not thus in idle jest. 
No words like these can I believe. 

Whilst I can boast one faithful friend 
Who'd rather perish than deceive. 

A noble, generous friend is he 
With ready hand for every task ; 

For anything, at any time. 
To give, or do, what I may ask. 

No sordid craven heart he bears. 
But best impulses fill his breast ; 

And when I've needed most a friend, 
He's always stood the firmest test. 

He's generous, too, to every fault. 
And brave as ever crested knight ; 

Disdaining all the world might say. 
Content to do what's just and right. 

And modest as he's good and brave. 
He seeks not vain and empty show ; 

But scorns alike the flatterer's tongue 
And dangers of a skulking foe. 

Then tell me not that life's a myth. 
That sincere friendship is unknown ; 

For one such friend as Johnnie is, 
To live for, is enough alone. 



261 






i^be nDur&ere& Mife 



(A poor woman, the mother of a young babe, died in Rome just 
after the prohibition election, and her father testified that her 
death was the result of a beating at the hands of her drunken 
husband.) 

Behold, ye "anti-prohi's," 

Your work is well begun ; 
A murdered mother's blood 

Now stains the cause you won. 

A helpless little infant, 

In piteous hunger cries, 
Whilst its mother's bloody form 

In yonder graveyard lies. 

'Twas a husband in his frenzy, 

By whiskey driven wild, 
Who struck that mother down — 

Made an orphan of his child. 

On you my "anti" friends, 

Who voted "for the sale," 
Must rest the awful crime 

W^hen justice shall prevail. 

For at the Bar of Judgment, 
When God shall call your name, 

You'll not escape his vengeance, 
For to you belongs the blame. 

'Twas the sanction of your ballot 

That licensed men to sell, 
And the selling brought about 

That bloody deed of hell. 

262 



And that poor murdered mother, 
At the bar beyond the sky, 

Will be a witness 'gainst you 
When you are called to die. 



a Iborrib Bream* 

My precious babe, my darling boy, 
Thy father's heart still true to thee, 

Vibrates tonight without a joy, 
Because thy face I do not see. 

A sadness dwells within my breast, 
A sense of gloom I can't dispel, 

An ominous dream that broke my rest 
Forbodes to me thou art not well. 

I saw within my vision wild 

A raging stream with foaming crest 
And saw thy form, my lovely child, 

Swept far away upon its breast. 

And as I watched thy little arms 
Held outstretched to me for aid — 

My heart grew faint with dread alarms. 
And paralyzed I stood dismayed. 



*While away from home when my first son was an infant I had 
my sleep broken by the foregoing ugly dream, and not being 
able to sleep, arose and wrote these lines, which the little chap 
has kept until now, and insists that the lines, which he calls "his 
poem," be included as a part of this book. 

263 



But when I saw thy hody sink 
Without a hand thy Hfe to save. 

My strength returned and o'er the brink 
I leapt into the rushing wave. 

With giant strength I dashed aside 
The rising billows in my course, 

And mounting every swelling tide, 
I plied my strokes with double force. 

Until I reached the fatal spot 
At which I saw thee disappear. 

Heedless of what might be my lot. 
Without a thought of selfish fear, 

I plunged myself beneath the wave 
Where last I heard thy feeble cry, 

Resolved thy precious life to save, 
Or with thee in the waters die. 

Down, down, I sank within the deep, 
Until I reached the rocks below 

O'er which the waters seemed to sweep. 
And searching round me to and fro. 

Thy little form at last I found ; 

Then clutching thee unto my breast, 
I sprang up with triumphant bound, 

And poising on the foaming crest, 

I held thee in my arms upright 

To see if there were signs of breath. 

But, oh ! I'll ne'er forget the sight ; 
Thy eyes were seeming closed in death. 

264 



And none but God will ever know 
The anguish of that fitful dream, 

When grief unveiled my sight to woe 
Within that visionary stream. 



^be l^anlieee Hre Coming 

Coming, coming ! the Yankees are coming 
Down from the North, so cold and benumbing ; 
Coming by steamer, coming by sail, 
Coming by river, coming by rail. 

No foes now to face them. 

No forts to menace them. 
But friends who are ready to meet and embrace 

them. 

From the land of Jack Frost, where the snow king 

reigns. 
Obstructing all thrift with his cold, icy chains ; 
Where the lights of Aurora shed a luminous glow 
And the steps of all progress are fettered by snow, 

To the land of the pines, 

Where the warm sun shines. 
And the cotton blooms vie with the bloom of the 

vines. 

Once, when the Yankees came marching this way, 
They met serried hosts in battle array. 
Who fought them as only true patriots fight 
When battling for home, for country and right. 

But, beaten by numbers 

Or cold in death's slumbers. 
No longer a foeman their pathway encumbers. 

265 



No hearts now opposed to the oncoming tide, 
No sword is upheld to turn them aside ; 
No cannon's loud roar, no trumpet's wild blast- 
All issues of hate are buried and past ; 

No jealousy's pall, 

No embittering gall — 
For the flag of our fathers floats over us all. 

Onward ! yes, onward the Yankees now come, 
Bearing no banners, beating no drum. 
No heart is opposed to the oncoming tide, 
No sword is uplifted to turn them aside. 

For they come with their skill. 

Our country to thrill 
With the musical hum of the factory and mill. 



Booming Birminsbam 

(Written during the panic of 1893.) 

Now don't it beat the Juba to hear them croakers 

croak. 
They seem to think because er bank has happened 

tu git broke 
That the day of judgment's cum with all its awful 

gloom, 
And that Birmingham and all the world is heading 

for the tomb ; 
But I wants to tell 'em now, that in spite of all 

they say, 
That Birmingham is solid, and they'd better clear 

the way. 

266 



The time is near approaching when things is 

gwine ter hum, 
And we'll hear a buzz of business like bees within 

a gum; 
An' every cussed croaker who wants tu save his 

hide 
Will have ter git er hustle on or kinder stand 

erside. 
For I feel it in my bones and I breathe it in the air, 
The clouds are gettin' lighter and the skies are 

gettin' fair, 
The threatened storm is over, and things are 

gettin' bright, 
And Birmiingham is jest the town that's bound to 

come out right. 

For she's built upon a basis of the Giberalter kind, 
And she's gwine ter keep er goin' like er ship 

before the wind ; 
No busted bank can check her, nor nothing else 

can kill, 
Tho' she's been a little crippled by that infernal bill 
That keeps our honest merchants from collectin' 

of their debts, 
And hobbles every workman in the commissary's 

nets. 
It was made to aid the shylocks, and was helped 

erlong by fools. 
And was made intu er law by the corporation's 

tools. 

But, Birmingham will get thar ; she's er gettin' up 

her steam. 
Her nozzle's pinted upward on fortune's flowing 

stream, 



She's bound tu make her landing, and all who git 

aboard 
Will have a glorious passage and will reap a rich 

reward. 
And there's not a cussed croaker from Maine to 

Yubadam 
Who will live to see the sinking of our booming 

Birmingham. 



%ineB Mritten on tbe 3fl?4eaf 
of a Booft 

PRESENTED TO LIZZIE P 



To her whose curls of ebon hue 

Droop o'er shoulders white as snow, 

And from whose eyes, like morning dew, 
Light's brightest scintillations glow. 

Whose lovely cheeks are soft and fair 

As ever claimed a poet's thought; 
Whose mind is free from every care, 

Whose soul's with every virtue fraught. 

Whose lovely lips, divinely sweet, 

Are worthy of an angel's kiss. 
And in whose heart such virtues meet 

As fit her for Heaven's courts of bliss. 

Whose form of grace outvies the swan 
That swims upon the glassy stream, 

And whose sweet thoughts from dawn to dawn 
Are bright and pure as angel's dream. 

268 



fB)i? IRative Xanb 

I truly love my fellow men, 

My country and my country's flag; 
I love her every glade and glen, 

Her every cliff and mountain crag ; 
I love her mountains grand and steep, 

Her ev'ry hill and ev'ry plain, 
I love her lakes and rivers deep. 

Her forests and her fields of grain ; 
I love her history and rejoice 

When e'er Old Glory's folds I see — 
Of all the world give me my choice, 

America land of the free. 

What mortal born of any land 

Has ever breathed of freedom's air 
And has not felt his soul expand 

With rapture for this country fair? 
Where ev'ry man wherever born 

Who on its soil his foot once sets 
May lift his head and proudly scorn 

All kingly crowns and coronets. 
And truly feel that wondrous pride 

Which comes of conscious moral worth- 
Where rank and caste are set aside 

And virtue counts for more than birth. 

Let others roam if so inclined. 

And seek beyond the ocean wide 
For such attractions there to find 

As may in foreign lands abide ; 
Let them go view Mount Hercules, 

Old Aetna and Choomalari ; 
Go view the Alps and Pyrenees, 

And climb Mount Everest to the sky. 
269 



I envy not those vistas grand, 

With all their charms the heart to fill 

Just give to me my native land — 

Her charms alone my heart can thrill. 

Nor envy I nor yet condemn 

Those ''birds of passage," rich and gay, 
Who o'er the ocean love to skim 

In search of pleasures far away. 
I bid them speed and find content. 

No matter what their pleasures be, 
But as for me it's my intent 

To stay within this country free. 
Old England, Germany, and France, 

Greece, Switzerland, and ancient Rome, 
May have their lurements to entrance — 

But give to me my native home. 

My ears are closed when others prate 

Of royalty and regal birth. 
For in my heart I loathe and hate 

All caste and regal claims on earth. 
Free-born in this great country free 

Beneath Old Glory's spreading folds, 
I would not bow or bend the knee 

To all the kings which Europe holds. 
More independent, regal, I 

Than any king who treads the sod — 
A free-born heir of liberty, 

I bow to none except my God. 



270 



Then give to me my native land, 

For lands afar I do not sigh ; 
Of all the world the best and grand 

Is here beneath my native sky. 
Our men the bravest of the brave, 

Our women fairest of the fair, 
Our flag of all the flags that wave 

The grandest is beyond compare. 
Then here's to thee, my native land, 

Long may thy flag triumphant fly — 
Beneath its folds, so glorious, grand, 

Here let me live, here let me die. 



Drifting Hwai? 

Drifting, drifting every day, 
Down life's current, drifting away ; 
Kings and slaves, the grave and gay — 
All on board are drifting away. 

Both saints and sinners all the same. 
The men unknown, and men of fame ; 
All the cowards, and all the brave. 
Are drifting onward to the grave. 

Nor love nor wealth their course can stay, 
Not even a year, nor yet a day ; 
While some drift fast, drift others slow. 
But drifting onward all must go. 



271 



Youth and beauty cannot avail, 
Nor earthly powers can aught prevail ; 
No priestly prayers, nor precious gift 
Can stay the tide on which we drift. 

Hear that poor mother how she pleads, 
With broken, wounded heart that bleeds, 
For little loved one gone to rest 
From its weak mooring at her breast. 

And hear the father's anguish wild, 
In mourning for that precious child ; 
But father's grief nor mother's pain 
Can call their loved one back again. 

Mark yon pale cheek with hectic flush. 
Where passion once was wont to blush. 
And all love's fervency portray, 
Now soon in death to drift away. 

What tho' her lover's heart should break, 
What tho' he'd die for her dear sake ; 
His breaking heart no anchor proves 
To stay the tide on which she moves. 

The young, the old, the high, the low. 
All drifting down this stream must go ; 
'Neath spreading sails of deathly pall 
This voyage must be made by all. 

The sea to which we thither trend, 
With every foe and every friend. 
Is that dark, shoreless, boundless sea, 
The dark, unknown eternity ! 



272 



